


This isn't a Spy Story

by AngeliqueH



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Body Dismorphic Disorder (light/moderate), Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, CIA, Chronic Back Pain, Chronic Pain, Comic-Con, Disabled Character, F/M, Gay Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Steve Rogers, James Barnes and Natasha Romanoff are friends with benefits, James Barnes is Steve Rogers' handler, James Bucky Barnes avoids mirrors, James is a Dork, M/M, Maria Hill Feels, Maria Hill owes her life to James, Migraine, NYCC, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Spy - Freeform, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers keeps being shot at, Steve Rogers looks like Chris Evans, Zola's Algorithm, comic books, cosplaying, everyone thinks Steve Rogers was named after a comic book superhero, mention of Hydra, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7568632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeliqueH/pseuds/AngeliqueH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a new CIA recruit and the Agency wants him before he finishes his training for a mission tougher than expected.<br/>Under his dorky appearance, James Barnes suffers more than people thinks.<br/>AKA the story where everyone thinks Steve Rogers was named after a comic book superhero and looks like Chris Evans, and people presume that James Barnes is a comic book nerd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrannyM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrannyM/gifts).



> This an alternative universe where no one realizes that they share name with comic book superheroes except Steve Rogers who rather thinks that it is a curse. To make things worst, he receives his first assignment based on the fact that he looks like Chris Evans.
> 
> The first chapter is rather light since it was supposed to be a short story for a writing challenge about the 5 senses but things get more serious in the next chapters.
> 
> I had the idea to write this story while watching Covert Affairs so the first scene is kind of a tribute to the show. Also, Steve joins the same CIA division than Annie Walker so credits to the creators of the show. The rest is original.
> 
> To Jolan and my fellow Jaguars for their help and support.
> 
> English is not my first language so bear with me and let me know when you see typos

**CIA Training Facility**  
**Camp Peary**  
**aka The Farm**

5:00 am

12 000 feet in the air

"All right guys, we're reaching the drop zone. Your training is almost over, so you know what to do. I want to see your chutes at 2200 AGL, don't fuck up!" The instructor barks over the sound of the plane's engines.

"Rogers! Listen up; you pull one of your stupid shitty stunts again under 1000 feet, and I swear to God I'll pick you up off the ground myself with a spatula and feed the vultures with your remains! Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!"

 

~*~

 

A jeep from the security pulls right in the middle of the landing zone next to the blond man who's rolling the cords of his parachute carefully around his forearm.

"Steven Grant Rogers?" the man behind the steering wheel asks.

"Look guys; really, I meant to open at 2200 but ..."

"Don't care, get in there."

"If it's about the other night, I didn't ..."

"Just move your ass, Rogers."

 

~*~

 

**Washington, DC**  
**James Buchanan Barnes' apartment**  
**5:45 am**

"James"

"Whaaaat," James says, his face buried in his pillow.

"James! wake up, you're alarm went off ten minutes ago."

"Fuck the alarm, I'm sleeping ..." he mutters.

Natasha had woken up and got out of bed as soon as she heard the first notes of the Avengers Main Theme song that James apparently uses as his alarm on his phone. She looks at him with eyes that could kill, but her face softens after a short moment as she looks at her old friend in the bed. He's lying on his stomach, wearing an old army T-shirt. 

"You're never going to grow up aren't you?" she says, walking closer to the bed.

"Tried that before, didn't turn out well," he answers back with his muffled voice.

James sighs and turns on his left side to face Nat, shoving the stump of his left arm under the pillow. She's standing naked next to the bed, her black lingerie still on the floor after last night. He stretches his right arm and gently touches Natasha's leg. Her pale skin is soft but cold. Keeping his hand near her inner thigh, he closes his eyes again.

"Wake up baby," she says now with a softer voice, stroking his hair gently.

"I'm awake."

"So, get up."

"You're cold. Why don't you come back to bed..." he asks with a pleading voice. He opens his blue eyes, and his gaze follows his hand that is slowly reaching higher between her legs. He begins stroking her lips gently with his fingers. His face brightens, and he smirks as he feels that she's already wet. "I know a good way to warm you up."

"Oh yeah? Too bad you don't have the time to show me how."

"Got plenty of time."

"Not if I don't give you permission," she teases, pushing James on his back and removing his boxers. She climbs up on him, one leg on each side of his stiff body. She starts moving slowly over James' hard cock. "Tell me, have you been a good boy?"

"What if I tell you that I haven't?"

She grabs James's arm by his wrist and holds it firmly over his head while she keeps grinding on him.

"Bad boys get punished."

James moans and bites his lower lip.

"Shhh ... you know the rules ..." she says with a vicious smile before kissing him furiously.

~*~

"Where are we going?" the tall blond man asks.

"Director Coulson's office. Here, on your left."

The two men escorting Steve to Coulson's office step back while he hesitantly knocks on the open door.

"Come in Rogers," the Director says, without looking at him. Smaller than what Steve recalled, the short brown hair, well-dressed man was facing his office's window. He turns and stares at Steve with a hint of curiosity in his eyes and a smile on his face.

"Please, have a seat," he says, pointing at one of the two empty chairs in front of his desk.

"Thanks, Mr. Coulson." Steve clears his voice. "Uh, before we start, I just want to say that I'm sorry, the wind pushed me away from the landing area, so I corrected my trajectory and ended up opening my parachute at ..."

"You're not here to talk about that little stunt you did the other day," Coulson cuts. "And it's not about today's one either," he adds, apparently aware of Steve's every movement.

"Oh? Oh! Uh, ok.," Steve stammers, feeling flustered. "Oh! Is this about what happened the other night? I'm sorry, I already apologized to Sharon. I mean, Miss Carter. I had no idea she was the new instructor here at the Farm... - _Shut up Rogers_ \- I mean, if I had known, I would have kept my distance. It's really not what it looks like - _shut up, just shut up_ \- I mean I wasn't trying to flirt with her or anything..." Steve knows he's rambling. "Anyway, I'm..." He bites down on his bottom lip and blushes; he's certainly not in Coulson's office to talk about the fact that he's gay. Anyway, it's none of their god damned business.

The director is looking at him with amused eyes. "Even though I find your stories very entertaining M. Rogers, I have a job to do. Let me tell you why you're here today."

At that point, Steve expects to be expulsed from the program. He's got to admit that he pushed the limits a couple of times.

"Mr. Rogers," Coulson starts, still looking at Steve's file with amusement, "before we start, tell me, is Steven Grant Rogers your real name? I mean, really?"

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes and mutters "28th" under his breath.

"Beg your pardon?"

"28, it's the 28th time this year I get the question. The year this superhero movie came out - what was it, the Avengers or something like it ?- it went crazy. People keep asking me if I was named after this Captain America guy and no! The answer is no!" Steve says with exasperation, tired of repeating the same story again and again.

"Well, that's too bad son. Anyway, let's get to the point. I received a call from the headquarters in Langley; they say you're needed there."

"I'm needed th... What? What does that mean? I'm not even done yet with my training; I still have a couple of weeks to..." Steve doesn't have the time to finish before Coulson cuts him.

"It looks like your skills and physicalities are needed over there for a mission."

"What skills?"

"Don't know."

"What physicalities?"

"Don't know."

"But how ..."

"I DON'T KNOW! Now go! Pack up your stuff; they say they want you now!"

"Now, like now?" Steve says, wide-eyed.

"Now, like 'yesterday,' now get out of my office Rogers."

Steve gets up, takes his written authorization to leave the training facility, and walks out of the director's office.

 

~*~

 

James reaches to grab his phone off the nightstand to check what time it is. Nat has been in the shower for the last twenty minutes.

"Hey! Leave me some hot water would you?" James shouts to Nat from the bed. He finally hears the shower being turned off. Natasha comes back to James' room, wrapped in a towel. She lets it fall freely on the floor while she runs through one of James' drawers, looking for a T-shirt.

"Ah! Found it!" A satisfied grin on her face.

"Oh no, you evil woman! How dare you!" James pretends to be shocked. "I’ve killed men for less than that, I ..."

"Shut up Barnes." Nat grabs some panties out of her own drawer. They've known each other since high school, even went out together for a while. Because life was never simple for either of them, they eventually agreed that being 'friends with privileges' fitted more their unique lifestyle. Aside from sex, one of those privileges for Nat was having her own drawer where she kept a few change of clothes, a toothbrush, and some personal belongings. She never stayed in Washington more than a day or two; that little drawer made James' apartment the closest thing she could call home.

Trying a different strategy, James switches from 'assassin gaze' to 'puppy eye mode'. "Please! Not my Dr. Strange shirt! I wanted to wear it today!"

Natasha walks out of the room without paying any attention to James' babbling. She pulls up her wet red hair in a loose bun as she walks her way to the kitchen.

"Can you at least make me some coffee?" James begs but falls on deaf ears.

He sighs and rubs his scruffy beard. He mentally makes a report of his situation: his head doesn't hurt - he might skip the migraine today - phantom pain from his amputated arm is tolerable, lower back pain is a 4 on 10, left leg is stiff, and he can hardly bend his knee. Not too bad, James thinks. Morning sex with Natasha is undoubtedly the best medicine. He slowly pushes himself off the bed and sits for a few seconds on the edge until his vision clears up. His missing arm is what everyone notices, but only a few people are aware of the other damages the bomb did to his body when it went off. Because he doesn't want to be considered unfit for work, he rather keeps to himself the fact that his body constantly aches.

He gets up slowly and manages to walk to the bathroom, limping.

 

~*~

 

Steve grabs his personal belongings and shoves everything in his duffle bag. The drive to D.C. takes less than three hours, and he's lucky enough to find a parking spot one block away from the new apartment he shares with Sam Wilson, an old college friend. When Sam came back from Iraq a few months ago, the timing couldn't be better: Steve was about to finish his training and needed a place to settle down. So far, he spent a total of two nights over there, sleeping on the couch.

Steve opens the door just when his roommate comes out of the steamy bathroom.

"What the hell Rogers? Shit! What are you doin' here? Weren't you supposed to be in New York?" Sam rushes out to his room, butt naked, his two hands covering his cock. Steve chuckles.

"Sam Sam Sam, in all your morning glory! Stop playing with yourself in my shower for God's sake!"

"Nothing like some self-lovin' in the mornin' babe! And that's not your shower Rogers!"

Steve can't hold his laugh any longer. Sam has always been such a distraction. Everywhere he goes, people are immediately attracted to him.

"It's almost noon, lazy bastard!"

"Yeah, yeah ... Glad to see you, Rogers." Sam shouts from the end of the hallway. He quickly comes out of his room, dressed up in jeans and a black shirt over a V-neck white T.

"It is good to see you too, Sam! How come you're not at work yet?"

"Things are slow at the office, so I've got my Fridays off. I'm actually planning some volunteering at the V.A," Sam explains.

Steve suddenly feels guilty about keeping his kindhearted friend in total darkness about him becoming a C.I.A. agent.

"By the way, next time your company sends you on a special project that ends two weeks earlier than expected, text me in advance, man! You can even use that old thing known as a phone, turns out it was pretty handy back in the days." Sam says, making his point by bringing his right hand, thumb and pinky finger in a phone shape to his ear.

"Ok, ok, I get it. I'm sorry. Something came up; I had to get up in the middle of the night and drive all the way down here. Don't worry; I won't be in your way for too long. The way my boss sounded on the phone, I might have to leave abroad on a new project pretty soon. The project at the Metropolitan Museum was almost over anyway; they didn't need me up there anymore."

"Whatever man. Welcome home." Sam gives Steve a one arm hug.

Steve walks to his room and starts unpacking the boxes he managed to drop at the apartment the previous month. Most of them contain his artist material, multiple sketchbooks, and some unfinished projects. He rushes to make his bed, not even sure if he's going to sleep in it tonight.

Steve places his Winter Soldier Bear on the newly made bed. The stuffed animal was meant to be a joke from his ex, but he held on to it. The last box - tagged The Abyss- is the miscellaneous stuff one. He drops it to the floor and, using his foot, he kicks it, sending it sliding into the far corner of his closet.

He unfolds the garment bag he left there four weeks ago and takes out the two suits that he owns: a blue one and a classic black one. Last time he wore his black suit was at his mom's funeral, shortly after he came back from Europe. He hangs it in the closet and keeps the blue one, remembering how the lady at the boutique kept complimenting him and telling him how it brought out the blueness of his eyes.

He rubs his eyes and hopes that a cold shower and some strong coffee will be enough. Waking up before dawn for a skydiving exercise was the initial plan for the day; it sure didn't include traveling back to DC, unpacking and meeting his new boss. Hopefully, he won't get lost on his way to Langley where he's expected later this afternoon for a meeting with Maria Hill, the Head of the Domestic Division.

 

~*~

 

James rinses the shampoo from his hair. He had left it to grow after his return from the Middle East. Eventually, he had to face the fact that tying a ponytail with only one hand wasn't an easy task. He liked to hide behind his long hair when people stared at him but looking like a homeless person wasn't right for the job, so he had no choice to cut it a bit shorter.

He turns off the hot water and leaves the cold water runs down his aching back. It stings at first but rapidly gives him a soothing sensation of numbness that lasts a few minutes once he turns off the shower completely and dries himself up before putting a clean T-shirt and some boxers on, keeping his back to the bathroom mirror.

He shaves using the small mirror fixed to the wall and gently dabs the skin of his face with a soft towel before applying the fancy designer after-shave Nat gave him for his birthday. He loves how she nuzzles his neck each time she detects the first notes of his perfume. The smell of cedar, sandalwood and spicy pink pepper quickly fills the air.

 

~*~

 

"I see you weren't joking when you said you had plenty of time to play dirty this morning." Natasha barely lifts her eyes to look at James as he walks in the kitchen. James' old coffee machine is placed on the counter with an half-filled pot of fresh coffee on the warmer. "That's some pretty fancy espresso machine you got yourself there."

"So why did you use the old one?"

"Because I like the way this big mug of coffee lies to me and lets me believe that I have a normal life for a day?"

She takes a sip of her coffee and raises up issue #7 of Edmondson's Black Widow.

"Been wanting to read this one for months!"

"You mean since last time you showed up here?"

"Shhhh ...Wait ...Give me two secs ... And ...I'm ... done." She closes the comic book and tosses it aside. "That woman is always fighting her way out of disaster!"

"She's a spy Nat!"

"Yeah; but I'm a real spy!"

"Don't you have to kill me now that I know your secret?" James smirks and reaches for the coffee pot. "'Cause I've got nooo problem with that! I'm sure I can stand the torture. Anyway," he asks more seriously as he pours himself a cup of coffee, "how long are you in town?"

"That's classified, but I'm sure you can figure it out."

"My clearance is not that high Nat; I'm just a tech."

"You're the best handler of the Agency so cut the crap," she cuts before James starts on one of his self-depreciative rants.

James snorts and rolls his eyes at Natasha. He takes his first sip of coffee of the day, closes his eyes, and lets out an appreciative sigh.

"Hmm ...Oh God ..." He opens his eyes to meet Natasha's gaze and bites the lower lip of his sinful mouth in the most suggestive way.

"I know I'm divine..."

"No, I mean, your coffee ..."

"I know."

"I think I just had an orgasm."

"Barnes, you're such a jerk."

She gets up and walks up to the counter to place her cup into the sink. Moving to the living room, she stops on her way in front of the Bluetooth sound system, links her phone and hits play on her Spotify playlist. Ella Fitzgerald's melancholic voice starts singing Summertime.

"So, you didn't tell me how come you're not at work this morning?" Natasha sits on the couch, and James joins her. He takes one last gulp of his coffee and places his cup on the table. He tugs Nat over until her head rests on his chest. She wraps an arm around his waist while he wraps his right one around her shoulders.

"I was supposed to have an appointment for my arm, but I got a call yesterday saying that it was postponed for another two weeks. Anyway, I've got plenty of hours in the bank, so I took the morning off. I still have to go to Langley later this afternoon; gotta give the grand tour to this new guy."

"Hmm ... I see. You're still pushing away that appointment for your new prosthetic." She knows she's probably the only one who dares to bring this subject up. While James was still in the hospital after he was injured, the doctors had explained to her that the severe damages to his shoulder and the high-level amputation of his arm would make most prosthetics useless and painful.

"No, I'm not ... They ... They canceled."

"Lie all you want to yourself James but not to me."

James heaves a huge breath. They both sit still in silence, listening to the soft voice of Ella for a moment.

"Ok! Enough of that!" James grabs Natasha's phone and changes the music. "That's not what I was referring to when I said I wanted you to torture me." Sonic Youth's Kool Thing starts playing on the Bose system.

"Oh yeah? And what did you have in mind exactly?" But Natasha doesn't wait for an answer and slides her hand beneath James' shirt and starts rubbing his lower stomach muscles, letting her fingertips dig under his belt. She brings her hand higher on his chest and rubs one of his nipples between her fingers until it gets hard. She lifts his shirt a little more to kiss and gently suck on the other one before making her way up to his lips.

"I don't ...ahh ... fuck ... yes." James mumbles before Natasha starts kissing him fiercely. She rubs his hard dick over his jeans as she continues to assault James' mouth with dirty kisses. She suddenly pulls away and gets up off from the couch with a winning look in her eyes.

"What? Just like that?" James cries, so tight in his jeans, it hurts.

"Yeah, just like that."

"Heartless cold-blooded woman!"

"Sugar lips."

"Witch!"

"Little kitten of mine."

"Arrggg" James bites on his fist and gives her his best assassin gaze.

"You wanted some torture? I give you some." She smirks and turns her eyes away from him. "What's that?" She's looking at the wall behind James.

"What's what?"

"That thing on your wall. It wasn't there last time I visited you." She points at a board on which various pictures, and quotes, and stickers, and random papers are pinned.

She walks by it to give it a closer look, arms crossed over her chest.

"Oh, this?" James says, uncomfortable. "Hmm, well, this is my Vision Board."

"Your what?"

"My Vision Board!" he answers louder, sounding more annoyed than uncomfortable.

"And what is it supposed to be?"

"That's," James sighs heavily, "that's something my new therapist suggested me to do last time I met her." He gets up and joins Nat.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a new therapist."

"Well, yeah!"

"Oh! like I was supposed to know," she answers back with irritation in her voice.

"Sorry. I mean, yes, I do. Last time I had an evaluation with my psychiatrist, he suggested me to meet her, said she could help me to... well... you know." James doesn't finish what he was saying and looks away, pursing his lips. "Sorry, I know, it sounds stupid."

She puts a reassuring hand on his left shoulder and squeezes it gently.

"Hey! Want to tell me what it's all about?" she asks, softly.

"She says it could help clarify my thoughts and ideas. It's kind of a visual reminder of where I've been, where I am and where I'm want to go ... y'know ... for when it's hard to see the positive."

"Should it represent your image of the future or what you desire? Dreams, and goals, and all that?"

"Kind of."

"Well, I sure didn't know as hell you wanted kids," she says, pointing at a picture cut out of a catalog showing three children playing together. 'The Howling Commandos' handwritten with a permanent marker over the glassy paper.

James clears his throat. "Let's say it's a long work in progress."

Natasha keeps examining the various pictures pinned on the Vision Board: a cute and fluffy little kitten, some classic Rayban shades, an advertisement of the Guilty fragrance for Men by Gucci torn off from a magazine. She looks at James, puzzled.

"What? I thought the guy looked hot as fuck! Look at him!"

She nods in agreement. "Now that you mention it, remind me again when was the last time you went out on a date? Boy or girl?"

"C'mon doll, you know you'll always be my girl."

Nat rolls her eyes. "Don't try to avoid the question, James."

He shrugs with his good shoulder. "Damn Nat, you know..."

"Know what?"

"You know!" James sounds exasperated. He shows the stump of his left arm like it was supposed to explain why he didn't date anyone since he got injured during a special ops mission.

She sighs and looks at James with affection. She puts her hand behind his back and rubs it up and down.

"You haven't lost the right to be happy, you know?" she says tenderly, looking at an old picture of the both of them pinned on the top left corner of the board. They were still teenagers and were holding hands.

"Yeah, I know."

"What else do we have here?" There are a motorbike picture and a white paper page saying 'Hi James from Ed Brubaker - Emerald City Comic Con.'

"A girl, so dear to my heart, sent it to me," he says pointing at Ed's note. Natasha smiles at the memory. She arrived just in time to get the last wristband that day and waited in line for more than hour before meeting James' favorite writer.

"You love this bad guy, don't you?" She points at the character dressed in black with a silver arm - a sticker from Redbubble apparently.

"Come on Nat! You know who he his! He's not bad! He's the Winter Soldier! He's Cap's buddy!" he points at the red, white and blue shield pinned on the board. It looked like it had been cut out of a cereal box.

"Are they together?"

"#GiveCapABoyfriend was trending last night."

"And you obviously have nothing to do with this."

"Absolutely not," his lips curling into a smirk. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

"Oh! Shit, it's almost noon, better get ready."

James walks back to his room to dress more properly for work while Natasha keeps looking at the vision board. Her eyes rest on a tiny Post-It. A short note in James' handwriting: 'I am alive for a reason'.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's first day at the CIA is nothing like he expected. James is an adorable dork but becomes more serious when the mission goes south.

When Steve parks his car outside the C.I.A. headquarters, he's hardly able to contain his excitement. He had been looking for an opportunity to do something with his life for many years. It took a man called Abraham Erskine to convince him to stop messing around and take action. He had encountered the man when he was in Paris on an international student program. After he had earned his master in fine arts, the idea to visit Europe and improve his foreign languages skills while studying art history sounded like a good idea at the time.

During the three years he spent there, he probably traveled and drank more coffee than anything. Despite his lack of studying, he managed to get an art history license from La Sorbonne. He first met Professor Erskine in one of those little cafés near the faculty where he liked to sit by the window and draw. The old man was a regular. He was simply curious at first, questioning Steve about the opened sketchbook in front of him. They eventually shared a table, and their conversations (in German for Steve's benefit) became more and more profound and philosophical as the months passed. He never talked Steve into joining the CIA or anything near it, but he made him realized that Steve was a man of action and didn't belong in a museum.

Trying to look as confident as possible, Steve walks straight to the security desk after entering the building.

"Rogers, Steven Grant Rogers. I'm supposed to meet ... uh," he checks for the hundredth time the name on the papers Coulson gave him, "Maria Hill, chief of D.P.D.."

To Steve's relief, the guard spots his name rapidly on the list and lets him go through security. Steve is escorted to another room where his picture is taken, his fingerprints and other biometric measurements compiled. After many signatures and a pledge to the Agency's mission, a man hands him his badge and pushes him out of the room and closes the door on him. Steve stands bemused in front of the door until he hears a voice behind him.

"I'm still trying to figure out whether it's a curse or a blessing."

It takes a few seconds for Steve to realize that the man is talking to him, and a few more before he turns to look at his interlocutor.

He's tall and athletic but not as big as Steve. His wavy, chestnut hair is just long enough to be tucked behind his ears. His big, gray-blue eyes have a devilish glint. He's leaning casually against the wall, not completely facing Steve, with a file in his hand. He looks like he's been waiting there for a while. He tilts his head slightly and keeps staring at Steve, frowning, like he's trying to solve one of the life's mystery.

Steves walks closer to him. "Uh, say that again?" He's struck by the beauty of the man standing in front of him, and he knows he's blushing.

"Either your parents had the worst sense of humor on earth, or your 'ma was the coolest woman in the world to name her only son after Captain America."

"What?" Steve asks, totally puzzled and a bit annoyed.

"Steven Grant Rogers?" the brunet man asks in return.

"Uh, yes, it's me, and yes my mother was a great woman, but I don't think she intended to call me after this superhero guy; I mean, she could have picked a better one."

"Who's better than Captain America?"

"Uh ... And - and you are?" Steve stammers.

"Barnes. James Barnes." The brunet straightens up and smiles, and Steve forgets to breathe for a second when he sees the man's face illuminates.

Under the shock of staring at such beauty, badge still in his right hand, Steve reaches his left hand out but quickly retracts, realizing too late that James was an amputee. His face turns scarlet red when James notices his hesitation.

"Ok ... that was ... awkward. Well, I guess I deserve this after my lame jokes about your name right?" James forces a smirk and starts walking along the corridor, with a slight limp. Steve quickly catches up with him and walks by his side.

"I see you got your badge. Unless you're having second thoughts, you should be wearing it by now. Want my advice? Run for your life while you still can, it's too late for me, I can't be saved."

Steve chuckles and fixes his identification card to the front pocket of his suit. "No, no, I'm fine."

James sighs and shakes his head theatrically but ends up with a grin on his face.

 _Barnes. James Barnes._ Steve wonders what good he did in his life to come across such a stunningly good looking man on his first day on the job. ' _Breathe Rogers, just breathe - stop looking at his lips - look into his eyes - oh no, not his...'_

"You okay, Rogers?"

Steve snaps back into reality with his eyes wide.

"Maybe I better stop trying to convince you to quit on your first day. Maria Hill will cut my head off and give it to Furry as an offering if she hears me."

"I thought the seven wonders of the world were protected." The words leave Steve's mouth too fast, and now he wants to hang himself in one of the bathroom's stalls. Thank God, James acts like he didn't hear it.

"I'm supposed to give you the grand tour but let's do it quickly, it's Friday afternoon, and we're all weary. You got a Starbucks near the main entrance downstairs, and that's pretty much all you need to know." Just as he mentions this, a young woman with mid-long brown hair walks by both of them. "Skye! Caffè doppio per me!" She keeps walking with a thumb up, showing James she got the message. Italian words coming out of this mouth should be illegal; Steve keeps for himself.

James pushes the door of the D.P.D. division, and Steve stops to glance around the area. It's just like Steve imagined: offices with closed doors on his left, about a dozen of small desks with a computer on each one placed in the middle of the open room. Judging by the various personal belongings placed here and there, they all seem to belong to someone except for one. James walks by the empty desk and with a theatrical gesture, presents it to Steve.

"That's yours. Don't get too much attached to it; your ass won't be on that chair often. Hill wants you on the field. I've already arranged a job for you to cover up your activities here. It's in a company that builds storage and racking systems for art galleries and museums. The manager over there is a member of the CIA as well. It's easier to tell your friends and family that you have a steady, boring job than to lie your way out every morning to get down here. From now on, you 'officially' work for a company called TelMon Shelving Intelligence."

Steves raises an eyebrow.

"I know, I know, I didn't come up with the name, ok?"

Steve's file still in his hand, James points to what looks like a tech room separated by large windows and filled with computers, and telecom equipment. "Over there, it's my sanctuary."

Steve nods and follows James, as they continue the tour.

"Break room is on your left, but don't trust your eyes, it doesn't actually exist."

"What, the room?"

"No, the breaks. Forget it; you won't have any." Steve follows James towards the corner office.

"And here we are. Maria Hill's office."

Steve looks nervously at the name on the door's identification sign: Maria Hill, Chief, Domestic Protective Division. "We're going in there now?"

"Ppfff Nooo! You're going in there alone. I stay as far as I can from her. Oh! Look! I found your Shield, Captain!" James points at nothing behind Steve before he walks away; and Steve is dumb enough to glance over his shoulder.

~*~

"What do you know about the D.P.D., M. Rogers?"

"Never heard of it, ma'am."

"Perfect," she says with a satisfied smile on her face. "For your information, we deal with every global threat that finds its way past our borders."

"And where do I fit in?"

"We have a situation and from what I've read from your file, you seem to be the perfect man to help us."

"That's what I've signed up for," Steve answers back, putting on his most charming smile.

Hill stares at Steve for a long, very long minute.

"Yes, you're definitely his type," she whispers to herself before continuing. "I know you're not done yet with your training so if you're uncomfortable with this mission; I'll just send you back to the Farm," she assesses Steve again for a short moment. "But you don't seem to be a man who backs up easily."

Apparently, she already knows exactly how to push his buttons, and he understands now why James didn't want to come in. That woman knows how to get what she wants. He lifts up his head and straightens his shoulders.

"I'm listening, what do you need me to do?"

"I will give you the mission's details in a moment when we'll meet the rest of the team."

"I'm glad to know I won't be alone."

"You sure won't. I'm putting my most reliable man on the case. He'll be your handler, and he'll be in constant communication with you during the mission."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him, ma'am."

"You already did, M. Rogers."

 

~*~

 

' _Fuck, fuck_ ' "Fuck!", James mutters. He rubs his eyes and muffles his mouth with his hand while pretending to look at his computer screen. Maria Hill must really hate him. Why did she have to put him on Rogers' case? Steve is the most gorgeous man he's laid his eyes on in years. The guy on the Gucci fragrance advertisement - the one pinned on his vision board - can go back to the locker's room. He looks back at Rogers' file. He must have missed the place stating that the man was a fucking professional swimsuit model. ' _Shit! Steve Rogers in a swimsuit, now why did I have to come up with that?_ ' He bites on his index trying not to think of all the things Steve's long artist fingers could do to him, or inside of him. ' _Mission focus Barnes, you're a fucking Olympic-level ex-sniper, don't get distracted.'_

"What's up with you Barnes?" Skye asks, coming into the room and placing James' double expresso in front of him.

James almost jumps out of his chair and mutters obscenities in at least three different languages or dialects as far as Skye can tell.

"Ease up man! What the hell is wrong with you?" the dark haired girl asks, sitting in her chair on James' left. They share the same huge glass desk. In front of her, three computer screens are placed in a semi-circular way so that James' can easily look at them from his place while still working on his own computer equipped with a keyboard adapted for one-handed typing.

"Nothing."

James puts on his earbuds, the ones that allow him to free his hand while typing and talking on the phone, and trusts Skye to be wise enough not to ask him any questions.

 

~*~

 

"Alright, listen up everyone. We have a situation." Hill speaks loud enough to catch everyone's attention. "But first, meet our new team member. This is agent Steve Rogers." Steve hears a 'hi' from a male voice and a 'welcome' from a female behind him and a 'told you to run while you still could' - that one came from James Barnes.

Steve is standing up, right across the biggest tactile screen table he ever saw while James is sitting on a stool behind him, trying to concentrate on Maria Hill and not on Rogers' ass.

"Steve," Maria designates the dark haired girl who took James' coffee order earlier in the corridor. "Meet Skye, our cyber-intelligence specialist. Agent Hunter, here, has been working on the case since it became our problem. And Barnes, back there - I know you both already met - will be your handler." Steves glances at him over his shoulder. The man winks back at him, and that's enough to make Steve's face turn red.

Maria Hill dims the lights of the room, and the face of a man with round eyeglasses frames appears on the screen table and the two big monitors fixed at the wall behind her.

"Meet Dr. Arnim Zola, a world leading biochemist and well-known neo-nazi. Among other things, he did genetic experimentations to create the perfect human race and the perfect soldier. Think of Hitler but with an I.Q. out of proportion and science is his Eva Braun. Lately, he's been working for an organization called Secret Empire that originated after the Soviet Union collapsed. This organization is founded by a terrorist group called Hydra. Base on what we know, Zola's latest creation is an algorithm that allows targeting any threats to the organization. Our agents discovered that Zola now suffers from a brain tumor and was on his way to Zurich to receive special treatments when he got kidnapped by a mercenary called Batroc."

Another picture appears next to Zola's on the screens. Mid-aged man, dark hair with a military cut, athlete-level physical condition. Steves quickly looks again at James sitting behind him. His smile and dorky manners have completely vanished.

"We don't know for sure who Batroc was working for, but we think that Hydra probably wanted to keep the algorithm for themselves. Now, here's where the D.P.D. gets involve: one of our undercover agents have discovered that Zola's algorithm have been stolen from Batroc by a lone wolf. The man is called Heinrich Zemo and comes from Eastern Europe." Steve catches Maria Hill's pointed look at Barnes and hears James cursing under his breath in a language Steve isn't familiar with. Was that Russian? Steve isn't sure. "Our agent was able to replace the chip that was stolen by a fake one, containing an algorithm that won't work so Batroc and his employer - Hydra as far as we know - still think they have the original one in their possession. Unfortunately, the real one is somewhere out there with Zemo."

Again, Hill looks directly at Barnes. "Our agent risked a whole lot and have blown a few of his covers to deliver this intel so let's not waste time." James' stomach twists and hopes Natasha wasn't involved in this.

"We have reasons to believe that Zemo entered the United States under a false name and is hiding somewhere in the country. If an organization can use Zola's algorithm and practically rule the world, imagine what a single man can do with it."

"What would be his motive?" Skye asks.

"Revenge," Hill answers and pauses a moment before continuing. "His wife Hilda, and his son, Helmut, got killed a few years ago in a crossfire during an SOF mission against one of the heads of Hydra. The mission went south and ended dramatically. Don't try to look for any records of it, you won't find any."

Steve shifts his gaze from the wall monitor to Hill. She's staring at him.

"A blogger that goes under the alias of the Dark Avenger popped up one too many times lately on our watch list. He promotes all kind of conspiracy theories, and somehow, know more than he should about Zola's algorithm. He thinks the U.S. government has it in its possession which is unfortunately untrue. He also claims that he discovered a secret code used by the parties involved to target their enemies. Since he posted his theory on his blog, he says he had received threats and asked for our help. He's ready to give us all the information he has in exchange for our protection. We don't know his name; we don't know what he looks like. Our profilers tell us that he craves for attention and," Hill examines Steve from head to toe and winks, "and we know his tastes in men."

Steve looks at her, wide-eyed.

"What the fu..." comes from James behind him.

"Language, M. Barnes," Maria Hill says. "Dark Avenger keeps posting pictures of an actor named Chris Evans on his Twitter page and fantasizes publicly on social media about having him between his ... well ... I don't have to draw you a picture M. Rogers, do I?"

"I'm not sure I'm..." Steve trails off. More and more nervous, he thinks that maybe he should have listened to James. He glances at Barnes over his shoulder and sees that he's muffling his laughter as best as he can with his forearm.

"Since you look pretty much like his 'bae,'" the word definitely not coming from her, "we'll use it to our advantage. Even if he says he's willing to share all the information he has, we believe that Dark Avenger might turn his back on us at any point. I want you to put him at ease and make this transaction go smoothly."

 

~*~

 

Steve walks fast, storming. James can barely catch up with him.

"Did she really say what I think she did?"

"C'mon, don't tell me no one ever told you that you look like the guy who plays Captain America in the MCU!"

"Yes! Eh, no! I mean yes, I knew I looked a bit like him, but I thought he played some sort of human torch in ... Uh, what was it called? Super X or the Fantastic or something?"

James stops on the door frame of his window-walled office, shocked, looking at Steve with narrowed eyes and shaking his head in disbelief.

"You really know nothing about pop culture, don't you? It's The Fantastic Four; not the shitty 2015 version, the old one. Hey, stop pulling your hair out! She didn't tell you to sleep with the asset or to pretend that you are Chris Evans. All you have to do is use that pretty face of yours, and make him feel relax. Then you'll have to hot-sync this thing here with the one in his possession." James walks to his desk and grabs what looks like an old i-Phone 3 and hands it to Steve.

"I would have thought the CIA had more advanced technology."

"This isn't a phone; it's a two-way encrypted transponder. Hunter dropped one for him to a designated location earlier this week. It has really short range - less than one foot-, but it's fast. You hot-sync yours with his, and you get the intel, and he gets the code for the money transfer and his new identity. You'll be out of there in no time."

"What? We're going to pay a conspiracy theorist for some information we're not even sure is trustworthy?"

"We don't hold a grudge in the CIA," James smirks. "And you know the saying: keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer." James is so close to Steve when he says that, he's almost whispering into his ear. Steve can smell his perfume, and it goes right to his head. James Barnes is the best - worst - thing that could happen to him right now.

"This is what you've signed up for Rogers," James continues. "By the way, I forgot to tell you; you can't have personal cell phones here, so the one you left at the entrance doesn't exist anymore. Anyone outside the agency who wants to reach you on the phone will have to call this number," he gives Steve a yellow post-it with a phone number on it. "It's the number of your office at TelMon where you've officially started working this morning. In the possibility that you are out in the field fixing 'shelving problems in a museum somewhere in the world', your personal assistant a.k.a M. Barnes-covering-your-ass right here," he rubs his chest with his hand, "will take care of it. If I were you, I'd call your girlfriend right now to let her know you won't be reachable for the weekend and tell her not to worry."

"What makes you think I have a girlfriend? I have no girlfri..."

James' smirk turn into a satisfied grin. "I didn't know until now. How the hell are you going to survive in the CIA Rogers?" James taps gently in Steve's back and bites his lower lip to hold an inner squeal when he touches Steve's athletic body. "Use the phone on my desk if you need to call anyone." Steve dials a number.

If a man like Steve Rogers is single, there might be a little hope left in this world for a guy like James whose mouth twists in a wry smile that fades as soon as he hears Steve talking on the phone.

"Hey Sam, what's up man? No, no no, don't wait for me. Look, that new contract I told you..., yeah, yeah, I know, I'm sorry. Anyway, that new contract starts today, and uh, well, my company wants me to work as a consultant for a big box that builds shelves and special racking solutions for museums around the world... yeah I know, it's sad, don't cry Chocolateccino... anyway, my new office is in the back of that huge warehouse, and my cell phone doesn't pick any signal, so I just wanted to give you my office phone number, just in case. Here it goes ..."

Sam? Chocolateccino? Who the hell is Sam? FUCK! James squeezes his lips. He'll make sure to find out soon enough.

 

~*~

 

Skye, who's sitting at her place next to James, lets out a low whistle when Steve comes back, changed and ready for his assignment.

"Looking good Rogers!" she says, taking an obvious pleasure at making Steve blush. He's wearing designer jeans and a ridiculously tight Underarmour gray t-shirt that would unveil anyone's flaws. To James' disarray, Steve Rogers' body didn't have any flaws.

"Remember: you meet Dark Avenger at the bar located near the lobby of the hotel. Keep a low profile. Just hot-sync your transponders and you're out of there. I'll be with you all along," James gives Steve an earpiece. It's so small; no one could tell he's wearing one. "If anything seems odd, abort the mission and walk out of there. Don't forget to use the hotel's kitchen's back door," he shows Steve a back alley located behind the hotel on a map. "The extraction team will wait for you there."

 

~*~

 

Steve walks in the hotel lobby with his sunglasses, head straight, shoulders squared.

"Smile Rogers, everything will go as planned," he hears James' soothing voice in his ear. Two young teenage girls start giggling and muffle their nervous laugh with their hands when he passed by them.

"Look around and walk to the bar, Dark Avenger is supposed to wait for you there. He'll be wearing a blue t-shirt and a brown leather jacket. Remember, we're not sure yet if he's a man or a woman.

"Oh shit."

"Rogers? You're alright?"

"Oh, fuck me." Steves mutters. He just spotted the asset. Man - of course it had to be a man - about 5'6", 250 pounds, blue T-shirt with his belly showing from under, a brown leather jacket probably bought at the Salvation Army, navy blue baseball cap. His aviator sunglasses placed on the bar in front of him.

Through the small HD 720p camera hidden in Steve's frames, James can see what Steve is looking at. He clears his throat to hold his laugh. "Well, no one said all assets looked like some James Bond girls. The way he's dressed reminds me of someone, can't put my finger on it, though."

Steve takes a deep breath, checks again for the transponder in his back pocket, walks to the bar, and sits next to the man. He carefully places his camera/sunglasses on the bar at the right angle to allow James so see what's going on. He orders a glass of bourbon like James instructed him to do, a code requested by the asset who's been watching way too many bad spy movies apparently.

"Oh. My. Gawwwd," the man says, staring at Steve, and undressing him with his eyes. "Are you? No, you're not obviously. Anyone ever told you that you looked like Chris Evans?" The nerdy man is shifting from side to side on his stool and can hardly contain his inner fanboy.

"Uh, nice jacket" Steve tries.

"I know! Not bad hey? I'll be cosplaying 'Undercover Captain America' this year at the New York Comic-Con. See? Even got the same sunglasses with my prescription in it! Go Team Cap!"

"Oh! That's it!" James exclaims himself, "I knew I saw this outfit before... Ok, get the intel Rogers and get out of there, the guy's making way too much noise, and you'll get noticed."

"Look, you know what I'm here for so let's say we skip the handshake and synchronize those," Steve pulls out the transponder from his back pocket and pretends to use it as a regular phone when the bartender places a glass of bourbon in front of him.

"Sorry but I don't have it with me."

"What did you do with it?"

"Left it in my suite. Maybe we could go up there and hang out... for a while?" The man's voice is full of innuendo.

Steve blows out a slow breath and looks to the opposite side. He spots two men dressed up in the usual black suit/white shirt. Back-ups in case anything goes wrong. He turns back to the man and looks at him straight in the eyes - or more correctly, through his high index lenses that make the sides of his fat face looking narrower than the rest. He powers up his most disarming smile. "Then, what do you say we finish those drinks, and we go up to your room," flirting in a subtle way.

He takes a swig from his glass - ugh, why bourbon - and sees that the other man does the same. He signals the bartender to pour another drink for the fat nerdy man, hoping that the alcohol will help the conversation flowing. One more drink down later, they walk toward the elevator.

"Rogers, you'll be on your own up there, tell us what room." Steve hears James sharp voice in his earpiece. He slips his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt, but they don't give any good view of where he's heading at.

Both men enter the elevator, and the asset swipes his card to access the higher level floors.

"Wow, 25th, you must have a good view." Steve hopes James is already instructing the support team to move to the 25th floor, but they'll know soon enough that they need an access card. Steve estimates that he'll be all by himself for a least twenty minutes. The elevator's doors finally open and they walk toward the suite. The man uses his card again to unlock the door and pushes Steve inside, keeping his hand on his lower back for way too long. Steve's smile quickly vanishes.

"Ok, let's cut the crap. Bring me the device you've received this week. Intel for money and protection, remember?"

"Oh yes, but first, let's go into the bedroom."

"Don't go in there, invite him to sit with you on the couch instead, have him talk," James advises into Steve's ear.

Steve suspects a trap but ignores James' instructions anyway. He follows the asset inside the suite's bedroom. They need to find Zemo, and every information that can lead to him is vital. His orders are clear; hot-sync both devices and get the hell out of there and that's what he intends to do.

"How could I resist a man that looks like Chris Evans. Can I have a picture with you? I could tell my friends that..." Steve throws daggers at the man with his eyes.

"Just get the damn thing."

The man sighs. "There it is."

The asset picks up his transponder and gives it to Steve who quickly synchronizes it with the one James had given him.

"Everything you got on Zola's algorithm is on it?" Steve asks.

"Not everything. I came up with this lately." The man gives Steve a sheet of paper. It's a list with multiple numbers arranged in sequences of nine digits. Each line has two sequences. He folds it and shoves it down is back pocket. "You might also want to take a look at those," the man hands Steve a pile of comic books.

Puzzled, Steve reaches to pick up the comics when two gunshots shatter the window. The asset drops dead to the floor. In a split of a second, Steve runs for cover. He feels a sting in his left side as he jumps outside the bedroom and lands on the living room floor. He crawls back to where he dropped the transponders and recovers both devices. There are more gunshots, and at least two bullets lodge themselves in the wall just above Steve's head. He manages to grab two comic books from the pile now spread on the floor with what looks like brain matter on them. He crawls back toward the suite's main door, not conscious of the trail of blood he's leaving on the carpet. With a loud noise, the door is broken down by a battering ram and five armed men all dressed in black combat gear with no recognizable signs enters the room. Steve wonders where this tactic team comes from but faints before he gets any answers. He's still holding both devices in his hands.

"Rogers! Rogers, report!" James orders in Steve's earpiece.

"Agent Barnes, this is Bobbi Morse. We've got agent Rogers. He's safe; non-fatal GSW. The asset is dead." James closes his eyes and heaves a huge breath.

"Fuck."

He dials the same number Steve have called earlier from the phone on his desk - that one had been easy to recover - and wait until he hears a man's voice.

"Good evening, is this Sam, uh, Ma ... We ..." James flips pages, pretending he's looking for Sam's last name.

"Wilson! Sam Wilson! Who's speaking?"

"My name is James Barnes; I'm M. Rogers' assistant at TelMon Shelving Intelligence. M. Rogers needed to be in New Jersey early tomorrow morning for a new project, so he just left. He mentioned that he was going to call you on his way, but I've just realized that he left his cell phone on his desk. I thought it would be a good idea to call his, uh, I mean his...

"Roommate!"

"Yes, of course," James smirks. "He said he would be back in two days. Have a lovely evening M. Wilson."

"Yeah, thanks for calling."

"My pleasure." James hangs up. Steve is single, and that means the evening isn't a complete disaster. James' smirk turns into a large smile when Bobbi's last report comes in at the same moment: 'superficial wound, Rogers regained consciousness, medical team wants to keep him under observation for 24hr, we've got the two transponders - pause - and a few comic books.'

 

~*~

 

"Superficial wound?" Steve jerks up from the bed, indignant, but flinches under the pain, holding his left side. "Shit, the bullet went through and through! I'm lucky it didn't hit my kidney or an artery." He's resting on the medical bed, still under observation at the ER. James is standing a few feet from the bed.

"Easy Rogers. Look, it's late, and you had a hell of a day. You need to rest. The doctor said that you should be discharged by the end of tomorrow if no complications occur. You might want to consider a change of career, though."

"What d'you mean?"

"That scar," James points at Steve's bandages, "I'd give up professional swimsuit modeling if I were you."

"You're hilarious Barnes; I knew I saw you before at the comedy club. Oh no, wait, the guy had two arms, couldn't have been you..."

James gasps at him, open mouth for a second before giving Steve a death stare.

"I could kill you for saying that, Rogers."

"Take your ticket and wait in line, Barnes!"

A smile starts forming on James' lips, and he can't hold his laugh any longer. He's relieved to know that Steve's injury won't have any severe consequences. He smiles fondly at him, laugh lines spilling out of the corner of his eyes.

"You're one lucky bastard, d'you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," Steve answers back, avoiding James' eyes. He stares for a brief moment at the man's left shoulder and smiles sheepishly while his eyes go to the ground. "Sorry, I was stupid, should have stayed in the living room like you said, I just wanted to..."

"Listen," James walks right next to Steve's bed and takes a look around the busy ER. He puts his hand on Steve's shoulder and leans forward so he can be close to Steve's ear, making sure no one around them can hear him. "Those shots came from a professional shooter posted outside. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Where you stood didn't matter.

They both look into each other's eyes. A moment of silence passes between them.

"You did a good job back there Rogers," James finally says, a bit louder, as he pulls back from Steve's bed. "Thanks to you, we have what we wanted."

"Not everything," Steve points at his jeans folded and placed on the chair near the curtain that separates the beds in the observation unit. "Take what's in the pocket. I think it's linked to the comic books I've picked up."

James grabs Steve's jeans, places them on the bed and searches inside the pockets. He picks up the folded paper and shoves it down into his own back pocket without looking at it. He pulls out what looks like and old flip phone from the inside of his jacket and hides it, rolling Steve's jeans around it. Steve looks at him with questioning eyes, eyebrows raised.

"It's encrypted, and the agency doesn't know it exists. Just in case you find yourself in deep trouble. Keep it secret. Now rest. Oh, and don't worry about Sam Wilson, he thinks you're in New Jersey for a couple of days." James walks out the ER without glancing back at Steve.

On his way back to Langley, James calls his apartment, hoping to hear Natasha's voice but she doesn't answer. He knows it means that she's already gone for another mission. He stops on his way to get some coffee. It's already past midnight, and a lot of work awaits him at the agency.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James works non-stop to solve the mystery of the numbers on the paper that Steve gave him and tries to link them to the comic books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is getting much more complicated so this chapter is shorter.

A whole week has passed since they recovered both transponders and all the information held by the Dark Avenger on Zola's algorithm. In bonus, they got two comic books and a piece of paper with handwritten numbers on it.

When Sam catches Steve quietly hissing at the sharp pain in his side, Steve somehow convinces him that he'd only pulled a muscle in his lower back. Thanks to the painkillers, Steve returns to work in the middle of the week, and Hill assigns him to Walk-In Debriefing. Steve puts on his best while doing the W.I.D., trying not to show his boredom as he deals with the parade of people claiming they have intel on whatever they thought could be of importance. W.I.D. also means dealing with a plethora of individuals who describe some very odd, even paranoid, ideas leaving Steve with a considerable load of paperwork. Hill assures him that sometimes they get actionable intel from those walk-ins, and Steve holds on to that thought to make it through the week.

Steve drops by James and Skye's office every morning and brings them Starbucks coffees. They're still trying to figure out the link between the numbers and the comic books and both look like they've slept under their desk for the last week. Not that Steve minds James' scruffy look.

On Friday morning, he's on his way to debrief more walk-ins when he runs into Skye.

"Anything new?" he asks, looking over her shoulder to see if James was anywhere around.

"Back to square one in this case; I'm afraid all this mission was a waste of time, but Barnes won't let go. Those numbers have to mean something, but the comic books?James keeps reading them, looking for some hints... or he just uses them as an excuse to read on the job. Anyway, I had to go to some dusty old comic books store to buy the whole run even if I had already downloaded them on Comixology. James can be a real geek sometimes."

"Where is he?"

"Who? Oh, Barnes? He goes to physio every Friday. Why?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to say 'hi'... to both of you," Steve tries his best not to look disappointed. "I'd better go, I've got to meet some people in 'Wacko City' as James would say."

"Still on the W.I.D. assignment? You're my hero. You really deserve a beer after that. Tonight: 9 pm, at Louis', it's a little bar four blocks down from here. Hunter and Bobbi said they'll be there too."

"Is James coming?" That went out of Steve's mouth way too fast, and now he's blushing. Skye tilts her head and stares at him, an eyebrow raised, like she can see right into Steve's mind. The smirk on her face turns into a soft smile after a moment.

"No, Barnes never goes out with us. He is, uh, I mean, he says he's not comfortable in crowded places. I know he hates it when people stare at... well, you know," she moves her right hand vaguely over her left arm.

Steve nods. He's not about to tell her that James' missing arm was the last thing he noticed when they first met, completely stricken as he was by the man's beautiful face.

"He's very secretive, no one really knows him. I think the fact that you got shot on your first mission while under his supervision affected him more than he pretends. Maybe you'll convince him to take a night off and go out for a dinner before he crashes hard." She turns around and walks to Hill's office while Steve stands still in the middle of the way. It never occurred to him that James could feel bad or even blame himself for what happened last week, after all, he's the one who's been reckless enough to go up into that room.

 

~*~

 

James wakes up at 5:45 am even though it's Sunday morning. He turns off his phone's alarm and makes a quick mental report of his situation. He feels a migraine developing behind his closed eyes and the phantom pain coming from his amputated arm is already annoying. He couldn't find a good position to sleep last night so lower back pain is a 7/10 at least. It's one of those bad days, and he hates the way people stare at him during those days. He just fucking hates it. He hates how he walks with a limp and how it shows, even more, when his back hurts like that. He hates having to deal with the chronic pain caused by his injuries and TBI while trying to come in term with losing his arm. Most of the time, humor and sarcasm work well as coping mechanisms, but on days like today, he feels like he's just lying to himself and to everyone else.

He's been working non-stop since Steve, the new recruit - the stunning good-looking and too fucking sweet new recruit - almost got killed. He's pissed at the fact that Rogers got shot for some intel they already had, numbers that he can't link to anything, and two comic books.

He sighs and rubs his eyes with his hand before opening them one at a time. He turns his head and sees the pile of comic books on his nightstand. Skye got him the whole Crossbones' run by Frag & Rumlow. Sending her to the comic book store only cost him a twenty dollars Starbucks card and a lecture about saving trees and how Comixology's Guided View technology mimicked the natural motion of the readers' eyes. That part, he already knew; he came up with the idea to check the paper version after spending hours straining his eyes reading the digital copies on his iPad. He still hopes to find a link between the numbers Steve got from the asset, the comics, and Zemo's case.

He pushes himself off the bed slowly and sits on the edge of the bed for a moment. He gets up, grabs the pile of comics and walks with difficulty to his kitchen. He'll work from his apartment today.

 

  
~*~

 

James sits down at the small table in his apartment, drinks his espresso in two sips before examining the cover of the first issue of Crossbones. His phone vibrates when a text message comes in from an unknown number.

No call. ID <How's your new guy?>  
  
No name, just a phone number: the usual way for Natasha to get in touch with him when she is on a mission. She probably bought the burner phone just for this conversation, and she'll destroy it right after.

James <Not my new guy ;/ wait, you knew his name didn't you?>

Nat < :-# >  
Nat <Oh Captain, my captain!>

James <Wrong movie...>

Nat <Is he good looking?>

James <Classified info>

Nat <How many times did you guys make out?>

James chews on his lower lip thoughtfully; he knows it's a trap. She wants to know if he has a crush on Steve Rogers.

James <WTF!! Poor guy got shot on his first mission :( >

Nat < :| >

James <Nothing too serious, he's ok>

Nat <Take good care of you, sweetheart>  
Nat <and of your Captain ;) >

James <He's not my Captain!>  
James <... ok, wished he was>

Nat <Knew it! ;P Ur falling for him, I knew he was your type when I saw his file!>

James < u saw his file?!?>

Nat <I might or might not have spoken to Hill about him>

James <I hate you>

Nat <Luv u too>

Each time Steve Rogers stopped by his office this past week, James felt butterflies in his stomach. He can't believe he's crushing like a teenager on a guy he barely knows.

He looks at the cover page, issue 1 of 6 by Frag and Rumlow, placed on the table in front of him. The story and art are OK, but not his favorite. He has done some research on them, but no one had ever heard of them until 7 months ago. There are slight differences in the digital version. The presence of a bar code and various numbers linked to it on the front page is only one. James takes a close look at them and compares them to the numbers written on the piece of paper. No luck; that would have been too easy. He flips the comic book open and checks every page for details he may have missed. He has read the story twice, so instead of reading it a third time, he looks very carefully at each panel and the details.

This is when he sees it: in the upper corner, hidden in the panel frame, there is a 6. It is so small, it would not have been visible in the digital copies frame. He counts 1,2... no, he starts again. 1, 2, 3... 4, it should have been a four! Unless it's not the number of the page. Maybe some sort of templates numbering left by mistake? He looks closely at every frame. He finds a number 1, again in the top corner of the first frame of the strip on the second page.

6-1.... That has to be it!. That's how the first sequence of numbers starts. He looks at the asset's paper. Each line has two sequences of number, six lines make twelve sequences. James' eyes widen. Six lines, six issues.

He picks up the second issue and looks for the numbers written on the second line. Again, he finds the little digits in the top corner of the first illustrated pages and the next sequence in the right margins. The third issue the numbers are placed under the last frame of the bottom strip, different from the first. He jumps to issue six, the first numbers are once again placed discreetly at the top of the pages, and switch to the left margin.

He finally sees a pattern. The first sequence always on the top or bottom of the pages. The second sequence either in the left or right margins. Each number so small, easy to overlook.

Up, down, left, right, up... He absently scribbles the numbers on a page of his notebook. He places them instinctively in a wind rose pattern. Up - North, left - West... James gasps. He picks the first comic again. Two digits, an ad, two next digits, another ad and it continues like this. He takes his pen and marks every time the sequence of numbers is cut by an advertisement page. 61,01,37,097. The pattern repeats itself for the second one: 99,11,47,931. Those look too familiar, he could swear they are GPS coordinates. Degrees, minutes, and seconds. The first sequence is the latitude, the second one is the longitude. If the numbers are placed on top of the page it means North, Right refers to Est... 61°01'37.097'' N 99°11'47.931'' E

"Holy shit," James mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

He's looking at some GPS coordinates. Why would a comic book artist hide GPS coordinates intentionally? He texts Skye to meet him at the agency; those coordinates correspond to various places in the world, and they need to find out what links them to Zola's algorithm, and Hydra or even Zemo.

He picks up his phone and dials Maria Hill's number.

"I know what the numbers are for..."

 

~*~

 

All this couldn't wait until tomorrow. Less than two hours later, James is sitting with Skye in their window-walled office.

Unshaved, a strand of hair tucked behind his ear, sweat pants and an old worn out t-shirt (because getting into decent clothes and a shirt with buttons was the last thing he planned to do when he woke up this morning), James is staring at the different computer screens placed in front of Skye.

It didn't take long for the both of them to transform the six lines of numbers into GPS coordinates and locate them on a map. There is one building located in Siberia, two in ex-soviet union states, one in Paris, one somewhere near South Africa and the last building is located in the United States.

"Any idea what we're looking at?" Skye asks, looking at satellite pictures.

James is tense and only shakes his head as an answer.

"I can't find anything in our database linked to those locations" she continues while she types at a remarkable speed.

James sighs heavily, debating on whether he can tell Skye what those are or not.

"That's because it's way above your clearance."

"Fuck off James, you know I can hack into every database if I want too."

"Then, it's because they are not listed anywhere."

"So, how come you look like you've just seen a ghost?"

"'Cause I know what those places are used for... "

 

~*~

 

"When Batroc stole Zola's algorithm, we thought at first that it was because Hydra wanted to keep it for itself and get the Secret Empire out of their way. But then, Zemo stole it from Batroc and disappeared with it." Hill's face is tense. She glances at Director Fury, who is sitting at the conference table along with James, Steve, and Skye.

"This information took several weeks to come into our hands, and our undercover agent almost got killed for that." Her face softens slightly when looking at James. "She's safe now," she insists, knowing James' concerns for Natasha.

A map appears on the screen fixed to the wall. All six locations are marked. "Those are all civilian buildings." Hill gives Fury an interrogative look, like she's asking for permission to speak. He only answers with a nod. With a grave expression on her face, she continues.

"Agent Rogers, Skye. What I'm about to tell is highly above your clearance level."

Steve shifts in his chair and looks into James' eyes, hoping to find some sort of answer in them, but James' expression shuts off.

"Back when Fury and I were doing covert ops with the special forces, we used them as safe houses. At that time, we were going after Hydra's influential members and their secret facilities. Agent Barnes is one of the few people still alive to know about them. As we speak, only Agent Romanoff uses them."

James jerks up from his chair with anger, ignoring the sharp pain from his lower back.

"Are you accusing Agent Romanoff to be a traitor? You're sayin' that she's responsible for the leak of information?" James clenches his fist in anger. He knows Natasha would never do this.

"We need to look at every possibility," Hill answers, showing no emotion. "Now, sit down, Agent Barnes."

It takes a moment for James to calm himself down before he sits back into his chair.

"The worst case scenario is that the leak comes from much higher; we have a good reason to believe it could be a member of the government. There are only five people who know the location of those safe houses; three of them are in this room, and the fourth, Agent Romanoff, is following Zemo's trail... That leaves only one man: Senator Alexander Pierce."

Everyone in the room looks at each other in dismay; seized by the gravity of the accusation.

"These are serious charges," Steve finally says.

"But the first issue in which we found the first coordinates went out six months ago..."

"You're right," Hill turns to Skye. "It means we've been looking in the wrong direction from the moment the DPD got involved. Zemo apparently isn't just a lone wolf seeking revenge. He's backed up by someone who knows a lot and who's using him to bring Director Fury and me down... James, you'll have to watch your back too."

"Let's figure out how come those coordinates ended up in the comic books first. We can't go against a Senator like that!" Steve remarks, wryly.

"First, we have to find them. So far, all we have are dead ends; wrong numbers, wrong address, fake editing company, and so on," Skye continues. "It just seems like they don't exist. The funny thing, though, is that Frag & Rumlow are on the guest list for the upcoming New York Comic Con in two weeks."

"Agent Rogers, that's your next assignment. Agent Barnes, I think you know someone working in this industry; I want you go there too and gather intel on Frag & Rumlow as much as you can. You'll have Morse and Hunter to back you up."

 

~*~

 

"You want me out in the field? You know I'm not authorized to do that!"

James is standing in Hill's office. She's sitting at her desk and looks like she bears the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"I know." Her voice is much softer than usual. She sounds exhausted.

"Look, I know it's not the best time to tell you this, but I'll have to take a few mornings off until the comic con. I've got some appointments to see what can be done with this," James says, vaguely pointing at the stump of his left arm.

Maria Hill nods in agreement before looking at James fondly.

"I'm sorry for putting you through all this," she says, "I already owe you my life." She looks down and tightens her lips.

James sighs. He turns his gaze and stares blankly at the wall. He bites nervously on his lower lip, trying to find the right thing to say but the words get stuck in his throat. He turns on his heels and walks back to the door. He stops, hand on the doorknob, and glances at Maria over his shoulder.

"What you did for me after what happened, I mean, giving me this job, forcing me to get up in the morning... also the strings you pulled to get Barton a memorial..." he trails off for a moment. "I - I never thanked you for that. I think we both saved each other's life..." His voice is barely audible by the time he walks out of her office.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week before the New York Comic Con; Steve and James becomes more intimate. He'll soon find out the painful truth about James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, lots of hurt/comfort in this chapter.  
> warning: light/mod body dysmorphic disorder; James is very self-deprecating and hard on himself; his sentiments about his disability are his own, not mine.
> 
> Thank you so much PlanetClare to help me out with the typos in previous chapters <3

Steve catches James at his desk only twice during the following week but every minute he spends with him are worth waiting in line at the Starbucks.

Each time Steve enters the window-walled office, James' face brightens. He doesn't mind that James keeps teasing him about his name. He tells him about the time he spent in Paris. He loves how James ducks his head a little and constantly smiles when they talk. James' laugh lines are the sweetest things, and Steve keeps telling him embarrassing stories from his backpacking trips in Europe just to watch them as James roar in laughter. The way he looks at him with soft and warm eyes makes Steve's heart sink into his chest every time he finds the courage to meet his gaze.

It's almost 5 pm on the following Saturday when Steve shows up at James' address. He came as fast as he could when he got the call on the encrypted phone James gave him when he was in the hospital. He never expected that James would be the first one to use it. James sounded exhausted and in pain and only asked if he could come up to meet him at his place.

He presses the button for James' apartment and waits. Nothing. He presses again, and finally hears the door unlocking. He runs up the stairs two at a time and takes three deep breath before knocking on James' door. It doesn't take long before he enters the apartment.

Steve's whole body melts into a compassionate demeanor when he sees James leaning heavily on his hand, pressing against the kitchen counter, trying to steady himself. He's wearing sweatpants and a white tank shirt. Bandages are covering his left shoulder and his arm stump. Steve tries his best to keep a straight face for James' dignity; he's pretty sure that the last thing James wants is his pity.

"Hey. Thanks for coming," James sheepishly says with a hoarse voice. He limps painfully back to the living room and sits down slowly into the armchair. With his eyes closed, he tries to control the pain, taking deep breaths.

"James, what happened? What's going on?" Steve rushes to join him and kneels beside him. He notices the closed curtains and the dimmed lights. He counts at least five different bottles of pills on the counter.

"Sorry for scaring the shit out of you Steve. I had no one else to call. I couldn't reach my friend Natasha over the phone," he ponders for a brief moment if he should tell Steve who Natasha works for. "She's an agent too, I can't get in touch with her when she's on an assignment. I'm really sorry to bother you with this on your day off."

"Hey, no worries ok? Now, what's going on? What's the matter?"

James squeezes his eyes shut then opens them but avoids looking at Steve. "Right after you went out of my office Thursday morning, I got a call from the hospital telling me that the surgery for my arm had been moved ahead." He hesitates again. "I'm trying a new kind of prosthetic, and they had to place some sort of sensors there and there, and also there and there." James shows Steve where the doctors implanted the sensors in his pectoral muscle, the front and back of his shoulder, and the small portion of what was left of his arm. "I entered the hospital Thursday night because I had to stay away from food and drink, and most of the meds I usually take. The surgery was over quickly, and everything went well. They kept me under observation for a few hours, and they let me go with the promise I wasn't going to drive and wouldn't be alone for forty-eight hours."

He lets out a defeated sigh. "I was fine at first, but it all fucked up my meds' schedule. Since I got injured, I really have to take them steadily or else I lose control over the pain, and I get those horrible migraines and... I guess I shouldn't have lied to them about not being alone the first 48 hours..."

He pauses. He rubs one of his eyes, trying hard to keep the other open. "Anyway," he sighs, "I had a TBI, and last time I messed up with my meds, I ended up convulsing on my kitchen's floor. My friend Natasha found me unconscious an hour later." He tucks his lips into a pained and thin line and shrugs with his good shoulder. "She threatened to kill me if I ever let this happen again." He snorts and his lips curl into a shy smile. "Believe me, if you knew Nat, you would know she doesn't make empty threats." Looking at Steve's anxious expression, James tries to sound a bit reassuring. "Oh, don't worry, I have meds for that now, I shouldn't end up on the floor, this time. I hope you don't mind that I called you, I just," he hesitates, "I just didn't want to be alone."

Steve puts a reassuring hand on James' shoulder and shakes him gently. "It's ok. I wasn't doing anything anyway. I'm glad you called." He takes a look around James' place. "Let's get you in bed, you need to rest, I'll take care of my caffeine fix myself," Steve points at James' espresso machine on the counter, "after all, it's your fault if I'm an addict now."

James finally meets Steve's eyes and whispers "thanks", relieved to know someone is there with him.

"I should go to bed, it's not like I want you to sit there and watch me suffer." He tries to push himself up from the armchair but his head, his back, and his left leg hurt too much for him to move by himself. Steve stands up and bends over him, grabs James' right arm and brings it around his neck.

"Just hold on to me, don't try to help," he says while tugging James over him gently, helping him to stand up, supporting part of his weight. James leans reluctantly but heavily on Steve's arm.

Steve takes him to his bedroom and helps him settle in under the covers. He walks to the bathroom to fill a glass with water and leaves it on the nightstand.

"Need anything else?"

"Just hand me that bottle of pills over there. Those will knock me out for a few hours. I should look better when I wake up." He swallows two pills and closes his eyes and lets sleep wash over him.

"You always look good..." Steve isn't sure if James heard him. He stands by his bed for a while, staring at him fondly. He hesitates but after a moment, he bends down and starts stroking James' soft hair. He gently brushes away the strands that had fallen on his forehead. James lets out a shuddering breath but keeps his eyes closed. He turns his head slightly so Steve's hand touches gently the side of his face. He breathes more and more slowly and falls asleep. Steve presses a light kiss on James' temple before walking out the room.

 

~*~

 

Steves closes the bedroom's door behind him, his heart pounding in his chest. He hopes that what he did wasn't wrong; that it doesn't to look like he took advantage of James' vulnerable situation. ' _Shit... shit, shit, shit_.' He doesn't know how long is friend is going to sleep so he heads up to the espresso machine and goes for a double one. His 'friend...' Steve is officially James Barnes' friend otherwise, he wouldn't have called him, right? Skye told Steve that James never goes out with the rest of the team; he never reaches out or asks for help unless it's to make a mission succeed but never for a personal matter. No one knows much about him except Maria Hill, but clearly, that's classified information she plans to keep for herself. He wonders if it could ever be more than just friendship; he's not even sure if he's dating anyone. What about this girl: Natasha? So many questions without answers. Steve is not sure about what just happened in James' bedroom either. All he can think of, right now, is how James looked like he was craving to be touched and didn't push him away when he started stroking his hair.

He's totally lost in his thoughts when James' phone flashes with a notification. He deliberates for half a minute if it's ok to look at it or not. He finally decides to check. No name, just a number.

No. call ID <Call your Captain>

What does that mean? He knows how James likes joking about him sharing the same name with Captain America, the comic book superhero. Your Captain? Your Steve? Did James talk about him to someone? Is that 'someone' called Natasha?

Steve takes small sips of the hot beverage while he stands in the kitchen, looking at his surroundings. Everything is clean and tidy. The apartment is decorated with good taste. He sees no signs of any feminine touch. He sees a bookshelf in the living room. Curious to see what James reads, he walks by it. The two lower shelves are filled with hardcover comic books; he notices that they are perfectly sorted by characters, writers, volume number, and sizes. The way he treats those books means that James must value them a lot. The higher shelves are filled with memorabilia, autographed items all related to the comic book universe, and also little dolls, Funko Pop! as Steve reads on one of the boxes, of various characters. One has a metallic arm - the Winter Solider, the other one has DD on his chest. He recognizes a small shield with a star on it, Captain America's shield. Steve sees nothing that relates to James' past history. No pictures, no medals - because Steve has presumed to this point that James had a military background.

He looks around and sees a board with various things pinned on it. Looking closer at it, a little Post-It attracts his gaze: 'I am alive for a reason' in James' handwriting. Steve lifts delicately the little yellow paper and sees what's under. A picture of a younger James Barnes dressed up with his body armor, and a rifle in his hands. He stands with another man. 'Barton', Steve can read on the man's chest. Army buddies. Steve has guessed right.

Feeling more and more uncomfortable looking through James' personal life, Steve sits and turns on the TV.

 

~*~

 

Steve hears James moving in the bedroom a little past 9 pm. He walks out of it, wearing a hoodie to cover his left shoulder. He looks slightly groggy but definitely better. He smiles at Steve, who jumped up off the couch as soon as he heard James' door open.

"Hey." James rubs the back of his neck and looks for what to say.

"Are you feeling better? Wanna sit?"

"Yeah, I should."

"Cafè doppio?" Steve remembers the first day he met James. He never dared to ask him if he ever went to Italy or if he was just trying to impress him.

"Yeah, that would be nice. James climbs on one of the kitchen stools while Steve plays the barista. He checks the reservoir to make sure it's full of water. He places the ground espresso into the double portafilter and tamps it down to pack the bed of coffee tightly. He twists the filter into the grouphead and turns on the machine. While the water is heating up, he puts some chocolate chip cookies on a plate - the ones he found in the counter jar - and serves them to James.

"Thanks" James whispers as the simple gesture makes his heart beats a little faster.

Steve places two small cups on the warmer and waits for the water to be hot enough to extract the shots. He sits on the stool next to James, and they share the cookies together in silence.

James snorts faintly. "Pretty sure it's not what you had in mind for a first dinner with your handler..." He drinks half of his expresso in one sip. "God," he lets out a long appreciative sigh, "You sure as hell know how to make real coffee."

"With my friend, not my handler," corrects Steve. "And if you read my file correctly, you should know I worked for weeks in a Café in Paris to make some money before traveling across Europe."

James laughs gently. "Still... A couple of beers and a burger at Louis' would have been more fun for you." He takes his last sip and looks gratefully at Steve for a moment.

Steve tries hard not to forget how to breathe. He knows he's blushing. He finally turns to get James' phone and hands it to him. "I- I think you received a message while you were sleeping," he stammers, all flustered.

James takes a quick look at his phone. "It's Nat. She always uses burner phones." He sees Steve's reaction when he mentions her: a mix of curiosity and nervousness. "She's my best friend since high school. We used to date back then. When she joined the agency, and I signed up for the army, we stopped dating and stayed close friends with, uh, well, with privileges, you know? Not that it happens very often, though," he adds with an apologetic smile.

"Anyway, she's all I have, my parents are both dead, my sister thinks I'm dead or acts like it and lives on the other side of the country... So Nat and I look out for each other. Do you have any family Steve?"

"My mom died just before I joined the agency and left for the Farm."

"I'm sorry to hear that..." he gives Steve a compassionate look. "The stuff you see there, on the bookshelf, they're all things that she sent to me. It's her way to let me know that she's alive. Every now and then, I receive a package ordered from the same Amazon account linked to one of her fake identities. The gift always comes with a note telling me that she's alive. Each time she uses some regional dialect; it's her way to let me know where she is. It's also her way to remind herself that she exists... If..." James cuts himself suddenly and looks away, ashamed. "If... If it weren't for her, I would have put a bullet in my brain a long time ago." He tightens his lips before taking a long breath and letting it out, shakily. He still manages to put on a brave face when he looks back at Steve.

Steve swallows nervously. Trying to break the tension, he smiles back a James.

"I kind of had the idea you were pretty much into this stuff yourself, I mean, the comic books."

"Love them, but I'm not obsessed like people think. Actually, I used to date a guy who became a great comic book writer after he quit the army." The revelation takes Steve totally off guard, but James shows absolutely no discomfort revealing his sexual orientation. "The one that really liked comics and kept talking about them non-stop was my friend Barton." James' face brightens, and he smiles as he recalls the distant memories. "Clint used to carry comic books everywhere to keep his mind occupied while we waited for instructions. He loved Hawkeye. I guess they both shared the same ability to find trouble." His smile fades slowly. He's looking down at his empty cup and seems to be a thousand miles away.

Steve clears his throat. "Hum... You and Clint were in the same unit?"

"Uh?" James snaps out from his daze. "Uh, yeah. He was," he bites on his lower lip, nodding his head thoughtfully. He seems to hesitate a brief moment. "He was my spotter. I used to be a sniper." He points at the bookshelf. "That over there, on the lower shelves," he points at the comic book collection with a finger. "That was his most prized possession. See the big white Hawkeye Omnibus? He must have pre-ordered it a year before it got published... but he never got the chance to see it. He kept saying that Fraction and Aja's version of Hawkeye was the best. He was..." James trails off again, lost in his thoughts.

The silence feels heavy for the both of them. Steve wished he could hold James in his arms, and kiss him, and tell him that's he's there for him, but instead, he just sits still.

"When I joined the army, I was young and stupid. I thought nothing could kill me, you know? Nothing really exceptional happened during my first two years. I just did my job. This is when I came out as bi and dated a guy for a while. Even this part went smoothly, no heartbreaking stories or anything. I eventually met Clint, and we became good friends. Not lovers. Just best friends. We started to get noticed. They said our shooting skills were off the chart. Plus, they realized we could easily pick languages and dialects, and soon enough we ended up on the Special Forces. We did covert operations behind borders of countries where the United States are not supposed to go. This is where I met Maria Hill. She was a field agent working for Nick Furry, who was chief of the Clandestine division."

James shifts on his kitchen stool to ease his lower back and rubs his left shoulder with his hand. "Clint got killed in one of those missions. I was able to kill the two men coming for Hill before the bomb exploded, ripping my arm off, breaking some vertebras in my lower back and this knee," he shows Steve how he can't completely bend or unbend his left leg.

"I don't remember much of the extraction, and I woke up from a coma caused by a TBI one month later. With a lot of therapy, things got better. They offered me to stay on permanent medical leave with benefits but then, Nick Furry came to me and offered me to work for the agency in Hill's new division. I think they felt like they owed me something for saving her ass up there... but the truth is, with all the classified information that I know and the number of people I've killed under their orders, I think they wanted to keep a close watch on me."

Both men stay in silence. James snorts and shakes his head in disbelief.

"I can't believe that we've known each other for only three weeks and that I'm telling you all this." He rubs his face and lets out a slow breath.

Steve chuckles nervously before they both stare into each other's eyes. They're having one of those silent conversations where no words are good enough and where the silence means much more.

 

~*~

 

They end up on James' couch, watching a Netflix show about a blind vigilante named Daredevil. The second episode is about to start. 

"So, a new prosthetic huh?" Steve asks. "Will it be metallic like the arm of the Winter Soldier? Otherwise, I'll have to find myself somebody else to cosplay with, when we'll go to the convention in New York." Steve tries hard to sound serious, but his face tells a whole different story.

James shakes his head and rolls his eyes before chuckling. It's the second time Steve jokes about his arm. No one never dares to mention anything about it usually, but Steve Rogers is nothing like the others.

"You're a punk, Rogers, you know that?"

"You're the jerk who called me on my day off, remember?"

"Thanks."

"For what?" Steves asks more seriously.

"For not making a big deal out of it."

"You mean your arm?"

"Well, yeah."

"Will you believe me if I tell you it's the last thing I've noticed when we first met?" Steve laughs at himself, remembering how stupid he looked that day in the corridor.

James chuckles again. "I figured it was that otherwise you would have been an ass for offering me a left-hand shake." He snorts. "Most people avoid looking at it, or worse, act like there's nothing wrong with me."

Steve smiles at James tenderly for a moment.

"But for me, it's true. I don't care how you look under that shirt, you're just beautiful."

James lowers his eyes, his lips tighten, and he feels the tenseness in his face. He turns to face the television. He just can't see himself the way Steve does. He wishes he could, but he can't.

Steve catches the sadness in his friend’s eyes. Perhaps he went too far? Steve is considering leaving when James finally talks.

"Those meds messed with my head more than I thought they would."

"Why do you say that?" Steve inquires.

"I know it sounds foolish, but I could swear I felt someone stroking my hair while I was sleeping," his lips curling into a shy smile.

Steves laughs softly. He ducks his head sheepishly before looking back into James' pleading eyes.

"C'mere," he says, extending his arm in his direction. James lays down on his side and rests his head on Steve's lap before closing his eyes.

Less than a month after meeting James Barnes, Steve Rogers is running his fingers through his hair in soothing strokes. James falls deeply asleep just before the greatest hallway fight Steve ever saw on television.

 

~*~

 

James wakes up in his bed with Steve's arm around his waist and his warm breath on his neck. He smiles and enjoys the warmth of Steve's body, and tells himself that life would be perfect if he could just wake up like this every morning.

He shifts from his side onto his back so that Steve's head slides on his chest and he can wrap his arm around him before pressing a soft kiss in Steve's blond hair.

Steve wakes ups slowly and blinks a couple of times before turning his head to look into James' eyes.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

"Morning," Steve whispers. With one eye opened, he looks at the time. "Shit, 5:45 am, you're kidding me, right?"

"Sorry, I'm just used to wake up at this time. How the hell did I get into my bed last night?"

Steve pushes himself up on his elbow and smiles guiltily before brushing his tousled hair with his hand.

"Uh, yeah. I may or may not have carried you into the bed after the 4th episode of Daredevil."

"You mean like a fucking princess? Steve Rogers, if you ever tell this story to anyone, you'll be better off dead."

From his position, Steve has the perfect view of James' blue eyes which seem even brighter under a ray of sun filtering through the closed blinds. He's biting on his lower lip like he always does when he's nervous but when Steve gently caresses his face, brushing his mouth gently with his thumb, James' red lips turn into a broad smile, and Steve is helpless to do anything but smile back, slightly breathless.

"What?" James asks, "You're gonna stare at me all day, or you're gonna kiss me?"

"Yeah, I might just do that," he presses his wet lips against James' mouth, softly. He licks James' lips with the tip of his tongue and gently bites on the lower one before pulling away.

James feels waves of shivers through his skin. The way Steve his looking at him with the early sunlight behind him seemed unreal and he starts wondering whether all this is a dream or not.

"You are so, so beautiful James Barnes."

James' smile fades slowly, and Steve worries when he sees a flash of exasperation in James' face.

"What?" Steve inquires.

James sighs.

"Nothing, it's just... you know."

"No, I don't. What? You think you're not beautiful?" he scoffs. Did you look at yourself in a mirror lately?" Steve asks, trying to lighten to mood.

"As a matter of fact, no. I avoid mirrors as much as I can."

"Oh," Steve feels suddenly ashamed for trying to make fun of the situation.

James, who slept in an old t-shirt, turns his head and glance at the far corner of the room, frustrated. He knew this would happen. The day had just started perfectly - almost too good to be true - but now he's the one responsible for breaking the mood. The other day, when Natasha asked why he didn't want to date anyone, he showed her his stump as an excuse. But he didn't tell her that each time he passes in front of a god damned mirror, he turns his head away; that when he gets out of the shower in the morning, he only uses the small mirror attached to the wall to shave and fix his hair. He never said how much he hates his aching body, how much he feels broken. He just showed her what was left of his shoulder instead of telling her that he thinks no one can fall in love with someone who hates himself.

"Hey, James, c'mon, I didn't mean to upset you. Talk to me, did I say something wrong?"

James looks back at Steve before rolling his eyes. He snorts, wryly.

"C'mon Steve, did you take a good look at me? Fuck! Are you blind? I'm a cripple with one arm that can't walk straight. Some mornings, it takes me everything to push me out of bed 'cause my back hurts too much. I sleep with a fucking T-shirt on 'cause I can't stand to see myself when I open my eyes. My stomach lurches when I catch myself in a mirror." He pauses. "Look, it's not just the missing arm, wait until you see all the scars under that shirt, believe me, you'll change your mind about how pretty I am." James turns his head away and shakes his head. He sighs resignedly. With a sad smile on his face, he continues with a softer voice. "Steve, you're just so perfect, inside and out. I mean, look at you, you're flawless... You'll realize soon enough how broken I am, and that you deserve better."

They stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"So you think I don't mean it when I tell you that you're beautiful? You think that I'm bullshitting you when I say that you're the most amazing man I ever met?" Steve asks, offended. Just the thought of it makes Steve's heart sink into his chest. What hurts him the most is to hear James being so hard on himself. How come he didn't realize that behind James' dorkiness and jokes and apparent self-confidence, there was so much suffering.

Steve, who pulled away completely from James' arm, grabs the hand of his companion tenderly and massages his palm with his thumb. He brings it up to his mouth and kisses softly James' fingers.

"You think you've lost the right to be loved because you're missing a limb? Or because you can't walk as well as you used to?"

"It's not that it's just..." he sighs of frustration. He turns his gaze away and stares in the other direction. "It's just hard for me to believe you when you say things like that. I hate what I see when I look into a mirror, that's why I avoid them. The man I used to be is dead." He lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes.

Steve caresses softly James' face. He leans over him and kisses his hair.

"I'm sorry, I should have known better." He strokes James' hair for a moment. "What do you say we take it slow?" Keeping his hand on James' face, he lifts it so when James opens his eyes, his gaze meets Steve's.

James purses his lips and nods slowly. "If it's okay with you. Plus, as long as we don't know what Zemo wants exactly, Hill said to watch my back; that means it can be dangerous for you too if people figure out we're together."

Steve presses a soft kiss on James' lips and smiles. He rests his head on James' chest. Both men stay like this, letting the silence fill the space until they both fall back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes to the New York Comic Con after Brock Rumlow. Steve and James keep their relationship secret until something happens in the exhibition hall. James' reunion with his ex-boyfriend is more emotional than expected. More bad news for James.

Working for the CIA has some good sides; getting tickets for the NYCC on short notice is one of them. They also skipped all the fan approving process thanks to Skye, who has more than a few tricks up her sleeve.

Bobbi and Hunter drove to New York before the rest of the team to scout the Javits Center where the convention takes place.

Steve and James traveled together and arrived late on Thursday night. They checked in two separate rooms at the hotel, not sure yet if they want to inform the agency about their relationship. It's only been five days since Steve spent the night at James' apartment. After their early talk, they fell back asleep and rested until late in the morning. When Steve left on Sunday afternoon, they gave each other a gentle kiss and promised themselves a real first date after the New York assignment.

 

~*~

 

James wakes up early, alone in his room and starts his morning ritual when his encrypted phone flashes with a notification.

Steve <Meet you downstairs in about 30 minutes with Hunter and Bobbi>

James <fine>

Steve <the bed was not as comfortable as yours ;) >

James smiles. < your arms and chest are more comfy :P>

Steve <yeah, tell me about it, my neck still hurts for sleeping in the same position for too long; your fault >

James <stop, ur making me cry, and it's ruining my eye liner>

Steve <??? shit, you never said anything about cosplaying??>

James <Nah, just kidding, see u in the lobby>

Steve < <3 >

James < xx >

Once showered, James puts on a pair of black skinny jeans, a plain gray T-shirt, and a dark blue bomber jacket. He winces when he catches himself in the mirror and wishes he had his new prosthetic to fill his empty sleeve. Part of his mission today is to meet with his ex-boyfriend, but last time they saw each other, they were still deployed in Iraq. He sighs as he already pictures the scene in his head. He hates the awkward moment when people from his past realize that the man they used to call Bucky doesn't exist anymore. In the last two years, he became an expert at reading people's faces to catch the first signs of pity; and when it comes from old friends, it hurts even more. He grabs the lanyard with his pass for the NYCC along with his phone and wallet and walks out of his room. He heads toward the elevator, craving for coffee.

 

~*~

 

The elevator doors open and his eyes catch Steve immediately. He's dressed up with classic jeans, a brown leather jacket, a navy blue baseball cap and aviator glasses.

"Are you kidding me?" James asks in disbelief. "You're really going as 'undercover Captain America'?"

"Figured I might as well play the game. Who are you? The One Arm Man from the Fugitive?"

"Wow, I never heard that one before." James rolls his eyes.

"Don't you want me to kill him for telling you bad jokes like that?" Hunter asks, walking next to James with a Starbucks Iced Coffee.

James smiles and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm already too attached to those pretty eyes."

"Who's got pretty eyes?" Bobbi asks when she walks by the three men. The tall blond woman is dressed up in a tight full tactical suit; mostly gray with a bit of black and navy blue. She has straps with rivets over her chest and long black boots. She's holding two batons in her hands.

At the look of her, James' jaw drops. Steve reaches out for Hunter's shoulder and whistles low.

"Fucking Hell, Bobbi! You're the best looking Mockingbird I've ever seen!" Hunter finally manages to say, stumbling over his words.

"Not like you've seen many ones. Want to know the best way to conceal two 18 inches stun batons that deliver 9M volts? Use them as costume accessories." She winks at Hunter. "Come on guys; it's time to go."

 

~*~

 

They finally make it to the artists alley. Bobbi and Hunter go their separate ways to keep an eye on the Frag and Rumlow booth while Steve and James walk across the different lanes and act casually, trying not to attract too much attention while looking for hints. So far, Steve has only been stopped six times by attendants asking if they can take selfies with him and telling him how amazing his costume of Undercover Captain America is. James also heard a few 'Is that Chris Evans?' murmured over his shoulder. Everything is going smoothly; they even get a chance to chat with Apolo Rivera for a short moment and pick the last issue of Charle Soul's Daredevil autographed by the man himself.

"Sweet Jesus! Rogers, is that you?" A male voice comes from behind them.

"Oh shit, what is he doing here?" Steve mutters under his breath while turning on his heels, followed by James.

The black male is wearing dark gray combat pants and boots. He has red and gray protective gear over his legs, forearms, and shoulders. He's wearing red lenses goggles, and two large harnesses hold a backpack with EXO-7 written on it.

"Sam! What a great unexpected, uh, surprise to see you here!" Steve feigns his excitement at seeing his friend. "Sam, I want you to meet James Barnes. James, this is Sam Wilson, my roommate. James works with me at TelMon."

"Yeah, we spoke once."

James seems a bit confused when he shakes hands with Sam.

"Are you...?"

"The Falcon! Yes! Couldn't come up with the wings on time for this year but next year, whhooo, you'll have to check those out!" Sam removes his goggles and looks at James' left shoulder then looks back at James' face carefully. "That's weird; I've got the feeling I've seen you somewhere. Were you in the military?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. 58th unit, para-rescue."

James shakes his head thoughtfully before putting up his best charming smile. "I sure wouldn't have forgotten a pretty face like yours if I'd seen it before!" James lies.

Sam Willson keeps staring at James. "Funny, I could have sworn I've seen you before. Anyway, guys, I've got a copy of the latest issue of The Falcon as Captain America, and I really want it to be autographed by Nick Spencer over there so I better go! 'was nice seeing you, Sergeant."

James' blood freezes when Sam turns over and walks toward Spencer's table.

"Good," Steve lets out a deep breath, "I was afraid he would ask to stick with us." He rubs his face with his hand and looks at where Sam is standing before turning questioning eyes to James. "Did he just call you Sargent?"

James purses his lips and nods before letting the air out slowly, trying to calm himself down. "While you were in the hospital after your first mission, it took me only a few minutes to figure out what was your roommate's name, but then, it just sounded familiar. It took me a few days to put it together. I knew I had seen this name before. It was in my medical file. All the sensitive details of my rescue have been blacked out with a thick permanent marker, but the names of my rescuers were still readable. I was about to dig deeper to know if your roommate was the same Sam Wilson who saved me but I just got the answer. The guys who came for me were from the 58th unit."

Steve looks at James compassionately and puts his hand on his shoulder. "You okay with this?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I just - I just wished I didn't have to lie to the man who saved my life." James sighs heavily, turning his eyes from Steve a short moment. "I think you'll have to tell him who you work for before I can thank him properly."

Steve nods, understanding what it means for James. "I'll do it as soon as possible then."

They continue walking casually across the alleys, stopping here and there at the various tables. Bobbi and Hunter keep sending short reports on the situation at Frag and Rumlow table but no luck so far.

They're heading to James' ex-boyfriend's table when Steve suddenly stops and stands right in James's way.

"Kiss me."

"What?" James is totally confused by the sudden change in Steve's demeanor.

"Kiss me. Now!" Steve insists. Without waiting any longer, he presses a hard kiss on James' lips, grabbing the back of his neck while cupping his face with his other hand. The awkwardness of the act takes James totally by surprise, but he finally melts into the kiss. Just when Steve is about to pull away, he feels the tip of James' tongue flicking against his lower lip and his hand pressing against the small of his back, pushing Steve's body closer to him. Steve can't resist the invitation and opens his mouth and brushes his tongue against James'. The kiss that follows is softer and sends shivers down Steve's spine.

They have to stop after a moment to catch their breath (or maybe it's the sound of Hunter clearing his throat into their earpiece that makes them stop?). Before pulling his body away, Steve feels James' fingertips on his jaw and can't resist the need to place a delicate kiss on them.

They step back, breathing heavily, staring at each other like the world around them didn't exist anymore until two bystanders emit low whistles and someone walking by claps his hands cheering for them and saying "Give Cap a boyfriend! Yeah!" with his hands in the air. A weird moment follows as they just watch each other before James clears his throat and looks away, a bit uncomfortable. He spots Hunter, who's looking at them, bemused.

Steve runs his hand through his hair and looks down with a shy smile on his face.

"Uh... I'm sorry for that; you know how they say PDA makes people look away? I just saw my ex-boyfriend passing by us and I didn't want him to bother us. Tony can be such a pain. Being a genius, billionaire, and a playboy doesn't mean he has the right to be such an arrogant prick, but he does have good qualities, you know?"

"Damn, Rogers, how many of your friends are we gonna run into here?"

"Well," he looks down sheepishly while scratching the back of his neck, "if I count you in, that's about all the friends I've got so, I guess we're clear."

They hear Hunter again in their earpiece talking with a bit of amusement.

"Fuck guys, I don't know if that was part of your cover, but you were quite an attraction. I have to remind you though that we need to find Frag or Rumlow so get your asses back on track and get some intel."

Just as Hunter ends the communication, James spots Percival Pinkerton's table. He's the creator of the successful Howling Commandos' series, a story that follows a band of soldiers during WW2, and James secretly suspects that one of the members was based on him. They line up with the numerous fans and wait for several minutes to meet Pinkerton.

"So, that guy is your ex?"

James nods. Steve notices how James' body language changes as they approach the table. He looks nervous and very self-conscious. He stuffs the end of his empty sleeve into his jacket's pocket and straightens himself up and walks slowly like he's trying to hide his limp, but he winces as he walks a few steps.

"You haven't seen him since..."

"No," cuts James.

There are still many people in front of them. James closes his eyes a brief moment and takes a deep breath when he hears a high voice with a thick British accent.

"Bucky? Bucky, is that you? Good Lord, Bucky that can't be real! I can't believe it! Bucky!"

Steve wonders who the hell Pinkerton is talking to when he sees him getting up from his chair and rushes to James, leaving some jealous fans in front of the line waiting for their autographs. He wraps his arms around James' shoulders and brings him into a tight hug. James rests his head on one of his ex's shoulders; his head toward the guy's neck while pressing his hand in the middle of his back to hold him close.

"I missed you brother."

"I missed you too Pinky," James answers with a choked voice.

They stay like this for a long moment until the British man pulls away, keeping his hands on James' shoulders. He is slightly taller than James but much slimmer. He has sharp features, and delicate hands. He stares at James' face for a moment before he starts examining him from head to toe like he can't believe that he's holding his friend at arm's length. He tightens his lips to hold a sob when his eyes stop on James left empty sleeve.

"Bucky what happened?" he whispers, full of sympathy and compassion. He hugs James again, this time with one arm around his neck like he's afraid to hurt him, and presses a quick kiss on James' cheek.

"It's okay Pinky; I'm okay."

Steve, who stands by their side, feels like he's violating their privacy. Both men met during the war; they probably share memories that neither of them would want to talk about to anyone else.

Meeting his ex-boyfriend was much more emotional than James expected. Pinky finally lets him go, and they both stand in front of each other, smiling. James rubs his face with his hand and wipes discreetly one of his eyes. He looks around and sees the people who were waiting in line for Pinky's autograph, staring at them.

"I think you should probably go back to your table and sign those autographs before one of them attacks me with a Sharpie pen."

Pinkerton snorts.

"I've seen most of them before. They come with a pile of things for me to sign before selling it on eBay and making money on my back; they can wait a few more minutes."

"Let me introduce you to Steve, then. He's my...," James hesitates a moment still not sure if can call Steve his boyfriend before Pinkerton ends his sentence.

"I can't believe I'm meeting Bucky's best guy! At least, that is what your face tells me!" He teases Steve before hugging him and tapping cheerfully on his back. "Sorry for the hugging session with your Bucky there, I'm a sensitive man, I'm sure he already told you good stories about this." He winks at James. "I was supposed to take a break from this circus in less than thirty minutes, would you guys like to join me for a drink? My hotel is less than a mile from here, on the corner of W43rd Street and 8th Avenue. Want to meet me there?" He looks at his watch, "Let's say, an hour and a half?"

"That sounds like a plan." Both Steve and James agree.

"Good then, see you later." He walks back to his table.

Steve turns to James, with a smirk on his face.

"Bucky?"

James rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know, silly nickname. No one calls me like that anymore."

"I kinda like it."

James ignores Steve and walks away when he asks if he can call him Buck.

  
~*~

 

They exit the Javits Center and only walk a few feet when James stops for a moment. He rests against a small concrete wall.

"Fuck."

"You okay?"

"Stupid back pain." James stretches his lower back, the best he can. He winces from the pain.

"It's a wild jungle in there," Steve agrees, "I don't know how people can stand that for three whole days." Steve’s feet and legs hurt. He can't even imagine what it’s like for James who still manages to put on a brave face.

They both agree to take a cab to Pinky's hotel. Knowing his taste for the more conventional stuff, James is surprised by the eclectic and modern look of the hotel Pinky has picked. They walk into the lobby and sit on one of the designer leather couches. There is a bar in the hotel, but they wait for Pinky to decide whether they will stay or go somewhere else. Percival Pinkerton arrives shortly after them and rushes toward them with a genuine grin on his face.

"Gentlemen, we can either enjoy the excellent bottle of bourbon that I have in my room or go into a loud and crowded bar around the hotel? It’s your decision."

All three men stare at each other, each wishing for the bourbon in Pinky’s room.

"Fuck, you know the answer. C’mon Rogers get your ass off the couch and help me get up off this thing. We've got a bottle of bourbon waiting for us upstairs."

"I was hoping you would say that! Come on chaps."

"Oh drop the British accent would you?"

"You used to love it! Jesus! Bucky! I'm so glad to see you!" He wraps his arm around James' shoulders as they walk to the elevator.

Once in Pinky's room, they share one glass after another and everyone, even Steve, who felt a little jealous at first, was starting to relax and have fun. They laugh at good memories of their time in the army, both veterans avoiding to talk about the 'not so pleasant' moments. The chemistry between James -Bucky? - and Pinky is touching and heartwarming.

"So, what brings you two to the convention? I doubt you decided to attend the biggest comic con in the country only to see my lovely face." Pinky inquires. "I know you well enough James Buchanan Barnes to know that you wouldn't go into a crowded place like this without a good reason." His gaze meets James' eyes. "I can only guess what happened to you," he points at James' missing arm, "but I am sure that going into an exhibit hall packed with people makes you feel on the verge of a panic attack, isn't it? How many emergency exits did you count in the North Pavilion? I can answer that for you because it's the first thing I did when I got there." Pinky was suddenly serious. His voice was steady, and he didn't sound affected at all by the alcohol. Both men stared at each other without saying a word, knowing too well what the other was thinking.

James ponders for a moment whether he should tell him the truth or not.

"You've always been clever, Pinkerton; that's why I won't lie to you." James looks at Steve, who nods in agreement. "Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy to see you and see that you're doing great, but Steve and I work for the CIA, and we need your help."

"You're kidding right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking to you?"

"Not you James, but him? Seriously? You're working for the CIA with a guy named after Captain America?" Pinky roars in laughter while Steve rolls his eyes, annoyed.

"All right, cut out the jokes, and listen to me," James says without trying to hide his own smile. "We're looking for two guys who are new in the business but seem to be part of something big. Frag and Rumlow, the Crossbones comics, ever heard of them?"

Pinky quits laughing after a short moment and repeats their names thoughtfully. "Frag and Rumlow, yes, I've heard of them. There are a lot of rumors going around about them."

"Like what?" Steve asks immediately with interest.

"One rumor is that Frag and Rumlow are the same men; I have no idea why a writing artist would do such a thing, I mean, to work under two different names, but that's what I've been told."

"Any idea what he looks like? We've been looking for him for the last two and a half weeks and still have no idea."

"Even though he's been to a couple of conventions in the past months, I never saw him, there is a man at his table who gives autographs, and sells signed artwork and comics, but I'm sure it's not him. I don't know; it's hard to explain, but I'm sure the guy is a fraud. I just say that judging by the artwork I've seen." He pauses and takes a sip of his drink. "I'm not the only one to think this. Some people believe that Rumlow had some sort of trauma and was disfigured like his character and doesn't want to show his face; some suggests that he comes at the convention dressed up as Crossbones."

James gives a pointed look at Steve, who stands up and walks a bit further for some privacy. Agents Morse and Hunter are still at the convention, and Steve contacts them to let them know what to look for.

"Ok, James, we should go back there; the floor closes at 8 pm. The second team is already looking for every Crossbones cosplayer."

"I'm coming with you; poor Gab has been covering for me at my booth for the last two hours. I better go."

 

~*~

 

When Lance Hunter called out a man dressed as Crossbones and flashed his CIA card before asking him to remove his mask, he didn't expect to be punched directly in the face with a reinforced glove. Luckily enough for Hunter, Bobbi was nearby and intercepted the man; or more precisely, 9M volts put a halt to his run.

While Steve and James were on their way to the Javits Center, Bobbi informed them to go straight to one of the CIA's shell office in New York. They already had apprehended Rumlow, and they were on their way to a secure place to interrogate him. They still had to drop Pinky at the convention on their way.

When the taxi stops in front of the Javits Center, Pinkerton opens the door and turns to James, who is sitting next to him for one last chat.

"So this is goodbye one more time? It was great to see you again, Bucky. Promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"Thanks for your help Pinky," James smiles at his ex-boyfriend but he is caught off guard when Pinky presses a soft and delicate kiss on his lips before giving him a one arm hug.

"M. Rogers," Pinky turns to speak to Steve, "take good care of him for me. You won't find a better man, believe me." Pinkerton turns on his heels and walks into the convention center without turning back.

The traffic was heavy, and when they finally arrived at one of the agency's clandestine offices, Bobbi had already finished questioning Rumlow.

There's a secure room with a mirror window allowing them to see inside the interrogation room. A disfigured man with dark hair is sitting with his hands cuffed and chained to the table.

Bobbi walks next to James and Steve and briefs the two men.

"Turns out that Brock Rumlow is a soldier who suffered 3rd-degree burns on half of his body and also some brain damage. Apparently, he doesn't care about anything except his own good." Bobbi massages her knuckles discreetly. "It didn't take long for him to spit all the information he had on Pierce. He knows it's his words against the words of a senator. Technically, all he did was leave a few random numbers in his comics - for which he was more than well paid - and since Pierce will deny everything, we don't stand a chance bringing his case in front of a judge."

"Did he say anything that can lead us to Zemo?" Steve asks.

"From what he knows, Zemo stole Zola's algorithm for Pierce, who's planning to use it for, and I quote, the 'greater good' of the nation. The man doesn't give a damn about human rights. In exchange, Pierce helped Zemo enter the country and provided him with many pieces of information on Fury and Hill. That way, Pierce gets rid of the only people who know him well enough to see through is evil scheme without getting his hands dirty, and Zemo takes his revenge on the ones he blames for the death of his son and wife. It's obvious that Pierce didn't tell Zemo that he was in charge when those special ops missions occurred. He knew the high risks of collateral damage for the population."

James sighs and rubs his stubble. It's late, his whole body is aching, and he can't see the end of this day.

"James," Lance Hunter walks into the room and hands him a comic book. There is a cut on his swollen upper lip, and traces of blood are still visible under his nose. "I thought you might want this," he hands James a copy of the latest Crossbones comic.

The seventh issue of Crossbones is supposed to come out next week, but because of the Comic Con, some copies were available before the national release date.

James quickly finds the new GPS coordinates hidden inside the comic book and sends them to Skye. Less than ten minutes later, Bobbi comes back into the main room to tell James that Hill is on a secure line and is asking for him.

"James?" Hill sounds worried.

"Yes. So you were right. It's Pierce, and he's after you and Fury."

"No. James, listen to me. Your life is in danger and probably Natasha Romanoff's too; get your ass back in D.C., fast. Agent Morse, Hunter, and Rogers will assure your protection. We're trying to locate Agent Romanoff as we speak."

"Wait, Hill, what the fuck is going on?"

"Those last GPS coordinates? They send Zemo right to your apartment."

James' blood freezes. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get very dark. Steve wasn't brought to this mission only for his pretty face as the others are about to find out.

James is about to tell Hill to go to hell, but she finally changes her mind.

« I give you thirty minutes; Rogers goes in with you. I already sent a team over there. It’s not safe Barnes; you shouldn't be anywhere near this place. Zemo knows where you live. »

« You said your men already went in my place and didn’t find anything; are they still watching it? Yes or no?

« Yes, but why do you need to go there yourself? »

James doesn’t answer and hangs up the encrypted phone. He’s sitting at the table of the small coffee shop from where he can see his apartment building. He points out at the black SUV parked about fifty feet away across the street.

« Hill’s men are already there. »

« You sure it’s safe? » Steve asks following James’ gaze. He’s screening the rooftops and the higher level windows of the surrounding buildings.

“As safe as it can be. There are at least two guys up there.” He points with his chin at two different buildings, but Steve doesn’t see any sign that would reveal the presence of snipers.

James gets up and puts on his black jacket doubled with a brown zip-up hoodie. A black t-shirt is showing from under his unbuttoned dark crimson henley. All the layers of clothes are making him look bigger than usual. He lowers his cap over his eyes, his two days stubble already darkening his face.

Steve follows him, alerted, his eyes going from side to side, scanning the area for any possible threat. The gun Bobbi gave him is mconcealed in a holster under his arm, ready to be used.

Both men cross the street and walk to James’ place. Even though Hill’s men already went inside and made sure in wasn’t booby trapped, Steve holds his breath when James unlocks and opens the door.

James walks in and stares around the kitchen area and the living room. His eyes stop a brief moment at the kitchen’s counter. He walks cautiously to his room, checking the bathroom on his way. He comes out of his room after a short moment, frowning. He looks once again at the living room area and walks directly to the shelves where Barton’s comic book collection is. He studies every object and every book carefully before going back into the kitchen where he finally sits on one of the counter height stools.

Steve walks into the living room and carefully looks out the window, trying not expose himself as much as possible; he spots more men sent to secure the area. He turns away and joins James in the kitchen, letting out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

"Natasha was here," James says abruptly.

"What makes you say that?"

"Wasn't totally sure when I saw this on the counter," he points at the Hawkeye Omnibus lying in front of him on the counter. "I thought maybe one of Hill's men picked it up to look at it, which would have been a major protocol break. Natasha is a well-trained spy; she probably didn't want anyone else to know she was here. I'm sure that's why she left my Dr. Strange t-shirt on my bedroom floor. She knew I would be the only one to notice this detail, but why would she do that?" James frowns, trying to understand.

"We've been gone for the last two days; it means she was here just after we left for New York?" Steve asks.

James bites into his clenched fist. The blood drains from his face as he understands what it means.

"Fuck. If Zemo put his hands on the seventh issue and got the coordinates on Thursday when the Comic Con started, I'm sure he knows about her by now."

James shakes his head; his lips are forming a thin line, and he's staring emptily in Steve's opposite direction.

"James, we have to move. Let's go. We can't do anything about it from here. We have to go back to the Agency."

James snaps out of it and stares at Steve.

"She's the only family I've got, Steve. He's going after my family to avenge the death of his kid and wife."

"It wasn't your fault! Hill and Fury, even Pierce are all responsible for what happened during this mission. James, I won't let you do anything stupid."

James stands up with anger all over his face and walks to his room.

Steve hears the sound of buttons being pushed rapidly. A security code. He figures James is picking up something from a safe even though he doesn't remember seeing one the last time he went into his room.

While waiting for James to come back, he picks up from the counter Barton's precious book - the one he never got the chance to receive before his death. He notices a thin yellow line between two pages. He opens the omnibus and sees a little yellow post-it. The same that was pinned on James' vision board. The one that says 'I am alive for a reason' in James' handwriting.

When James comes back, he's holding the handle of a long, rectangular, olive drab Pelican case. Steve is looking at him in shock, but James doesn't try to justify himself.

"James."

"It's just in case, Steve."

"No, James. Come here."

"Why? What do you want?"

"Hill said the other day that Natasha was on Zemo's trail? Do you think she could have found where he's hiding and stopped here to leave you a message?"

"Why? Why do you ask? Why would she do that instead of telling Hill and Fury?"

"Maybe she doesn't trust them anymore. They're the one who suggested that the leak of information could have come from her before knowing for sure that it was Pierce. Get over here and look at what I found." Steve shows the opened book with the small piece of yellow paper stuck to the page.

The post-it from his vision board. That single phrase that Natasha used to tell him over and over again after he woke up in his hospital bed one month after he got injured and his partner was killed. In his darkest days, he would repeat it to himself, trying to find a reason not to put a bullet into his head just to shut off his suffering. Nat kept telling him that the reason he was alive was to keep an eye on her, to look out for her, to watch her back. She eventually convinced him to go on with his life and to accept Fury and Hill's offer to join the Agency. Steve must be right. Nat must have placed it there intentionally.

James' first reaction is to look for numbers hidden on the page that could have been GPS coordinates, but there are none. The scene in the illustrated page doesn't help much either and seems to have been picked up randomly; or maybe not. Ironically, The Balck Widow is sitting in a booth in a diner with Hawkeye and his brother, giving them information. Nothing in the dialogue gives any hint, and James flips the next pages in frustration. He turns the pages all at once, about to close it, and ends up looking at two handwritten words on the last hardcover page.

'WNY Barry'

"WNY Barry? C'mon Nat, you have to help me more than that," James says to himself, rubbing his face with his hand.

Steve is already typing on his phone, trying to come up with some possible answers.

"WNY; it stands for Washington Navy Yard. My mom and I went there, once, to visit the museum. It was a few years ago; I remember there was some kind of a museum ship... Let me check..." Steve keeps googling and shows up his phone in a victorious way to James. "Here. Your friend Natasha didn't have time for some complicated riddles apparently. USS Barry. It says here that it's a museum ship open to tourists since... hold on, James, the ship is scheduled to be towed away in the upcoming week for scrapping."

 

~*~

 

"We've located Zemo in the pilothouse; he's holding Agent Romanoff hostage. From her heat signature and the way she's lying on the floor, we have good reasons to believe she is injured severely." Nick Fury, who looks amazingly fit and sharp for a man of his age, stands on the other side of the digital table where the blueprints of the USS Barry and satellite images are displayed.

"Have you established the communication with Zemo? What does he want?" Steve is standing next to the tactile screen. James is sitting in the back corner of the room, a grave expression on his face, staring intensely at the ship's deck plans exposed on the digital screen.

"For now, he wants James Buchanan Barnes." Hill walks in the room, looking like she hasn't slept in the last couple of days. She looks at James. Her eyes usually full of confidence are filled with sadness and pain. "James, I'm sorry for being the bearer of more bad news, but the body of Barney Barton has just been found; he was Clint Barton's brother. Pieces of evidence show that Zemo is probably responsible for this. Looks like he's going after the family of everyone who took part in this mission. Natasha Romanoff is your closest friend. He's attacking you directly." She's now looking directly at Steve, shaking her head like she's saying 'don't' to Rogers. James notices the understanding look between the two of them.

"If he wants me, I'll go in," James says hoarsely.

Hill and Steve turn to look at him.

"The Fuck you're goin' in there, Barnes!" That came out of Steve's mouth much harsher than intended.

"Then what the fuck are you going to do about it, Rogers?" James shouts, standing up from the chair he was sitting on, clenching his fist.

"I'm going in there," Steve answers defiantly.

"Usually, our own tactical team would handle something like this," Fury jumps in, "but I think Rogers is totally equipped to handle the situation."

James scoffs in disbelief. "And what about me? I stay here and watch the show? You can all go fuck yourselves, especially you, Rogers. I don't need anyone to fight my battles."

Steve turns to Fury, ignoring James.

"Tell your team to sit tight. I'm going in there alone." His voice softens as he says, "James, if a team goes in there blindly, Natasha Romanoff is dead. I won't let that happen." Compassion flickers through his face. "James, you told me your story. We all know you're not responsible for this man's loss. But that man... that man is sick! He went through a lot of trouble to get to you, Hill, and Fury. We need his testimony to bring down Senator Pierce," he says, giving Hill a pointed look, "but if I have to, I'll take him out myself. You wanted me for my skills? Let me do it my way; I go in there alone." Steve is looking intensely at Hill with no hesitation in his gaze. 

"All right Rogers, what's your plan?" Fury asks.

"I'm going for a swim."

"Have you ever done this before? You're going to tell me that you swam to a tourist boat in the Mediterranean sea?" Hunter looks at Bobbi, who nods in agreement. "It's October, Rogers; the water is cold and so polluted, you'll be sick for the next year but that's the least of my concern. Right now, I'm more concerned about having to save your ass up there." 

"Just give me a damn mask. I've only got a few feet to swim. Zemo is waiting for a SWAT team. I'll get in there, gain his trust, and try to switch places with Agent Romanoff; she's the one who needs help right now.

James, who's now standing by the table, leans against it and lowers his head, squeezes his eyes before exhaling the fullness of his throat at it in frustration. James is about to beg Steve not to go on the ship when Bobbi steps in.

"If the guy is in the pilothouse and has a view of all the surroundings, how do you plan to get up there without being noticed?" she asks, with a genuine interest. 

Steve continues. "Zemo is waiting for a threat coming from the ground; I'll be coming from the water. I wasn't brought up here only for my pretty face."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve deliberately puts his life in danger to save Natasha Romanoff. James makes one of the most difficult decision of his life.
> 
> WARNING graphic violence++

Steve puts his gun and dry cloth into a dry pack and then puts on his swimming mask and jumps into the cold water. Quickly reaching the ship, he climbs the ladder fixed to its hull. As soon as he's on the deck, he pulls out his gun and scans for any threat. He finds a safe place to change into his combat boots and pants, a navy blue shirt and a kevlar vest. He looks one last time at the ship's blueprint and enters its entrails.

He cautiously walks toward the pilothouse. When he finally has his eyes on Zemo and Romanoff, he gets in contact with the team on the ground.

"Found them. Romanoff is on the floor and looks half conscious. Zemo is standing as far as he can from the window. I can hardly see him, but he's there. He's armed. I see some wires along the door frames and every window. I think he can blow up the whole place if he wants to. Tell Bobbi and her team to keep their position." 

Fury, who was quiet since Steve left, turns to James. "Barnes, you know why I kept you here. You know what you have to do." He says to Hunter, "You go with him. Get your asses on the highest floor from which you get a good view and put a bullet into this asshole's head."

 

~*~

 

Steve is hiding behind the door frame. He takes two deep breaths to steady himself before calling out Zemo.

"Zemo! Let her go! You're surrounded and have no chance to escape from here alive."

"I said, I want Barnes or she dies!"

"Zemo, the reports Pierce gave you were forged! They were wrong - all wrong! Barnes had nothing to do with your wife and son's deaths! Hydra placed that bomb! Pierce authorized that assignment. He probably even informed Hydra that they were coming. He knew the risks; he knew there were going to have casualties but never agreed to evacuate the area."

"Don't tell me what I saw; I was there. Barnes shot two rounds right before the bomb went off. He detonated it."

"You got it all wrong!" Steve tries to get hold of himself, but his hands are shaking from the adrenaline rush in his body. "Christ" he mutters under his breath. He can't get a good view at Zemo from where he's hiding for protection.

"Tell Agent Hill that if I don't have Barnes in thirty minutes, Ms. Romanoff is dead. He'll know what it's like to lose the only family he has."

"No!" Steve steps in the doorway, exposing himself completely. He puts his hands in the air and loosens his grip on his gun so that it hangs uselessly around his thumb. "Take me instead. She's badly hurt and needs medical assistance, or she's going to die before Barnes shows up."

Zemo is staring at him, pointing his gun at Steve. He has a device attached to his belt that controls the explosive charges scattered around the ship.

"Who the hell are you to think you have as much value as her?"

Steve's heart sinks into his chest. He knows it's his last chance. He's standing under the doorframe, not sure whether it's safe or not to cross it.

"Let me in, Zemo! Look, you're one of the victims in all of this - not a monster like you want us to believe. Let her go! Or at least, let me check on her." Natasha is lying on the floor in a pool of blood, breathing with difficulty. She's holding her side with both of her hands in the vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Steve puts a foot in front of him and holds his breath, ready to jump for cover. Zemo watches him with infuriated eyes, still pointing his gun at Steve's chest.

"You have no value!" he screams. He walks a few steps closer to Steve

"Let me trade places with her. Instead of keeping Barnes' best friend hostage, you'll be holding his lover at gunpoint. How does that sound to you? Isn't that what you want? To make him suffer?"

 

~*~

 

James makes it to the roof of the building across Parsons Avenue with Hunter on his tail, carrying the case with his rifle. He stands about 1000 ft from the USS Barry. He fixes his gun into the hog saddle attached to a tripod. He's done it so many times under many conditions, that the operation takes him less than a few minutes. He positions himself and looks through his scope to locate the pilothouse of the ship where Zemo is.

"I'm in position, but can't get a shot at Zemo right now," he says to Fury. His breathing is steady. He's focused and in total control of what he's doing. He can hear Steve's conversation with Zemo in his earpiece, but he can't enter into communication with him. 

\- "...you're surrounded ... no chance to get out ... take me instead..."

James' stomach twists when he hears Steve mentioning that Natasha is badly hurt and needs medical assistance.

"... you have no value ..." 

"No, Steve, no. Don't say it - don't..." James mutters, a horrified look in his eyes.

"...his lover at gunpoint..." 

James' whole body freezes. He squeezes his eyes shut for one second and snaps them open to see Zemo slowly walking towards Steve. 

"Step aside, Steve. You're blocking my shot," James whispers even though Steve can't hear him.

He takes a couple of deep breaths to slow down his heartbeat with his finger always on the trigger.

 

~*~

 

Zemo's lips turn into an evil smile.

"Drop your gun and get on your knees."

Steve lets his gun fall to the floor.

"I said, ON YOUR KNEES! Take off your vest. QUICK! Your hands behind your head."

Steve does what he's told and gets on his knees. He feels the cold metal of a gun pressed against his temple while Zemo's hand looks for other concealed arms on Steve's body. 

"Zemo, if you kill me, you're a dead man and Pierce comes out clean like he always does. Your testimony can help us to put the bastard behind bars. He's the one responsible for ..." Steve hisses at the acute pain coming from his ribs as Zemo's steel-toed boots crashes into them. He falls to the floor.

"Shut up!" Zemo screams.

"Zemo, don't..."

"Shut up! You're lying! That's not possible." Steve receives another kick to his ribcage. Another, then another. He loses count.

"Pierce's been lying to you from the beginning. Let me take you in, Zemo," Steve spits blood on the floor; he's breathing hard. "We can still work this out." Steve's voice is only a murmur at this point. He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Zemo pressing the gun against his head even harder.

"Get up! GET UP!" Zemo grabs one of Steve's arms and blocks it behind his back and pulls him up. The pain coming from Steve's several broken ribs clouds his vision and his stomach lurches. His legs are shaking and barely hold his weight. Steve manages to stand up, too weak to offer any resistance.

"Make sure your people on the ground hear you! I want them to hear you beg for your miserable life while they watch me kill you. You'll cry for me to put a bullet in your head when I cut you open and let you agonize in pain." He pushes Steve closer to the windows, careful to use him as a human shield. Always holding his gun against Steve's temple with one hand, he releases his other hand's grip and skillfully pulls out a knife from his back and presses it against Steve's throat.

"He was a kid; he was just a kid! Have you ever heard your kid agonize from pain as the life leaves his tiny body? And my wife, my wife... she was preg..."

 

~*~

 

James listens in horror as Zemo kicks the life out of Steve. When he sees Steve being pushed closer to the large pilothouse windows, his decision is already made.

-...my wife was preg...-

"I'm sorry Steve, I'm so sorry." He pulls the trigger between two breaths, reloads and presses it again. Two bullets, two men down. He steps away from his rifle, gets on his knees, covers his eyes and keeps repeating again and again that he's sorry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Hill looks over Barnes convinced that sending James back into action was the only thing to do.  
> James surprises Steve.

James walks with difficulty along the walls of the hospital corridor. Everything from the moment he pulled the trigger and killed Zemo is a blur. He can't even remember how he came down from the roof. Hunter must have dragged him down. He doesn't know how long it's been since the last time he slept and took his meds, and he can't tell if it's either day or night. He managed somehow to change his shirt. His best guess is that Bobbi forced him to do so. He hears voices in the distance but doesn't make out what people say. The effects of the adrenaline rush are long gone, leaving only pain that irradiates from every nerve in his lower back. His head hurts so much that he can’t think straight. He stops and leans against the wall to rest a moment. He realizes at one point that someone hi holding his hand and tugging him gently into a room.

 

"James? James, are you with me? James, there's an armchair right behind you. You can sit." Maria Hill pushes down softly on his shoulders, forcing him to sit. "James, I know you’re in pain. Skye told me you kept those in case," she says, giving him a small white paper cup containing his meds. James looks at them, confused. “They came from the small pill dispenser that Bobbi found in your vest. You need to rest. The doctors are still trying to stabilize Natasha's vitals before they send her to the O.R. She’s very weak, but she’s alive. They’re giving her blood transfusions as we speak." She lifts his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"James, listen to me. Steve had internal bleeding and a punctured lung caused by his broken ribs.  None of this was caused by you, James; it wasn't your fault.” Maria emphasizes each word as she keeps holding James’ face. “James, stay with me. Steve is okay. He's going to be fine. They had to intubate him and install a chest tube to help him breathe. He’s just out of surgery.”

James looks around the room. He doesn’t know where he is and how he got there. His mind is racing, and he can feel a panic attack building up inside his chest. The bright light reflecting on the walls hurts his eyes; he shuts and squeezes them tight. He gasps but can't seem to catch his breath until he feels Maria’s reassuring arms wrapped around him. Keeping him close to her, she strokes his hair for a moment until he calms down. She pulls away slightly.

“James, look at me. You have to calm down.”

He opens his eyes to meet Maria’s compassionate gaze.

“You’re in the intensive care unit. They will transfer Steve here as soon as he wakes up from the anesthesia. Right now he’s still in the recovery room. Listen, James, I’m not allowed to stay here, but I convinced the nurse to let you see him. Rest until he gets here, all right? I’ll be in the waiting room. I won’t leave until I’m sure everyone is fine. You hear me?

James swallows the lump in his throat and nods slowly.

“James, I'm so sorry for all of this. Fury and I knew you weren't supposed to go back into action but you're the best sharpshooter that we know. You made the right decision up there. Shooting Steve first saved his life. Zemo was about to kill him. Your bullet went through and through right above his collarbone. It caused some damage but didn’t hit his shoulder joint. The surgeons had to perform an explorative surgery on him, but they told me that he should fully recover from his injury." Maria looks at him fondly and caresses the side of his face. "You knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you?"

He remembers now clearly what he did. Maria takes a water bottle out of her purse and gives it to him. He takes his meds and closes his eyes.

 

~*~

Steve is resting in his hospital bed, finishing up reading Brubaker's Captain America arc when his phone flashes with a notification. He reaches slowly to pick it up from the nightstand. The doctor removed his chest tube three days ago, but his side is still quite painful.

 

James < On my way with a couple of surprises for u>

 

Steve < Stll feelin bad for shootinf mw? >

 

Steve curses when he sees all the typos in his message only once he pressed the send button. Not that James minds; he knows too well what it's like to work with only one arm, except that Steve has to do everything with his left one. The doctors told him he could use his right hand in a couple of days but until then, he has to give total rest to his injured shoulder. The nurse came in earlier to remove his bandages. He looks at the fresh scar left by the bullet that saved his life. He closes his eyes and remembers how the blade felt on his throat and the coldness of Zemo's gun on his temple. When James shot a bullet at him, he fell to the floor which took his assailant completely off guard. Less than a second later, Zemo dropped to the ground next to him with a bullet in his head, his last breath coming out of his mouth in a wheezing sound.

 

James <Still mad at me :(    >

 

He waits before writing back when he sees the three dots on the screen.  James sends him a picture of himself pouting. Steve can't help but laugh. The man on the screen is gorgeous. James shaved and from what Steve sees, he got a new haircut. His eyes are bright blue, and his lips are deliciously red. If Steve could, he'd get up from his bed and run to James just to kiss those lips.

 

Steve < Jst get ur pretty face hre>

 

An hour later, James limps to the doorway and pokes his head into Steve's room, his body half hidden behind the door frame. He's holding a pile of comic books in his hand, and he shows them to Steve.

 

"Look what I got for you! Remember that show we watched the other night? Daredevil? I brought you THE best story arc. It's called 'Devil in Cell-Block D.' You'll love it."

 

"Good enough to make me forget that you put a bullet into my shoulder?" Steve asks teasingly. There is absolutely no judgment or blame into his eyes. He smiles gratefully at the man who saved his life.

 

James, who's still half inside the doorway, lowers his head sheepishly and bites nervously on his lower lip.

 

"Uh, got another surprise for you," he says, sounding embarrassed.

 

"What else are you hiding back there?" Steve asks, chuckling.

 

James steps into the room hesitantly and avoids looking at Steve, who is staring at him, stupified.

 

"Oh my God, James! When did you get it?" Steve is staring in amazement at James' new prosthetic arm.

 

"Uh, well, a couple of days ago. Five days to be more specific but you were still in a lot of pain, so I didn't want to bother you with it." He looks at Steve like he’s looking for his approval. He extends and flexes his artificial arm, closes and opens the robotic hand. 

"Engineers at Johns Hopkins University created it. It's not FDA approved yet, but I volunteered to be part of their studies on brain control of advanced arm systems. We're not there yet, but I can control the robotic hand using the muscles I have left in my shoulder. I also have to use my pectoral muscle. It's…" he trails off, looking at his new hand. "It feels weird, but I'll get used to it."

 

"C'mere." Steve says, extending his left arm in invitation.

 

James walks up to Steve's bed. His usual limp seems somehow affected by the weight of his new arm and he's quite aware of this.

 

"Ugh. Still getting used to the weight." He puts the comic books on the bed stand and sits on the edge of the bed.

 

"You're doing brilliantly. Hey, how's Natasha?"

 

"Better every day. She woke up yesterday. She lost a lot of blood, but she'll live. Steve, about what happened. We haven't really talked about it yet." He brushes his hair with his good hand and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, but I had to do it. I had to take you out of the equation to kill Zemo."

 

"Wait, 'take me out of the equation'? Like that guy in the bus movie with Sandra something?"

 

"What? You mean 'Speed'? Uh, em, yes, I guess ... Like Keanu Reeves in 'Speed'. Fuck, you're such a punk, Rogers. I'm here, telling you how bad I feel about all this, and you come up with a stupid movie quote."

 

"You're the jerk who said, 'take me out of the equation' in the first place."

 

"Shut up, just... shut up." James leans over Steve, careful not to touch his bruised side, and nuzzles his nose against his jaw. Steve hasn't shaved for several days and his heavy stubble brushes against James' face. Steve turns his head and meets James' lips. He scoops James' face with his left hand as their kiss goes deeper.

 

They pull back just enough so they can breathe with James' forehead resting against Steve's - their lips so close they still touch.

 

"I can't wait for you to come home," James says, a little bit out of breath.

 

"Home? Steve pulls back a bit more, pressing his head deeper into his pillow to look at James with warm eyes.  "I was hoping for you to say something like that eventually."

 

James chuckles. "I was hoping you would say something like that myself... Maybe I should warn you that I don't sleep much. I'm grumpy as hell in the morning, especially when I had a nightmare. I don't like to go out; crowded places make me nervous.” He pauses. “I can’t see shit when I have a migraine – which happens too often – and I have to park in handicap spaces, so don't expect me to go for a jog with you," James blushes and laughs as Steve rolls his eyes. His smile disappears slowly, and he bites on his lower lip again before he continues more seriously. "And it will take a while before you convince me to look at myself in a mirror but..." a shy smile reappears on his lips, "but I'm working on it."

 

"James," Steve says, caressing the back of James' neck before pushing him closer to meet his lips. "James," Steve keeps repeating his name as he kisses him more and more passionately. He kisses his lips, his jawline, all the way down his neck to his collarbone where he shoves his head to catch his breath.

 

"Bucky,” James whispers into Steve’s ear. “You can call me Bucky."


End file.
